


Will You Still Be Here In The Morning?

by padfootagain



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Six Thousand Years of Pining, Slow Burn, the agony going with slow burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-29
Updated: 2019-09-29
Packaged: 2020-11-01 13:56:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20816273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/padfootagain/pseuds/padfootagain
Summary: A collection of moments leading to The Moment





	Will You Still Be Here In The Morning?

**Author's Note:**

> This was meant to be a one-shot, but got out of hand. It's very long, so if you'd prefer, I've splitted it into different chapters on tumblr. Here's a link to my masterpost for this story there :https://padfootagain.tumblr.com/post/188008818201/just-a-collection-of-moments-leading-to-the

Crawly was shaking, and not because of the cold. Not really. It was because of the shock of it all, the last molecules of adrenaline leaving his veins and abandoning him to the realization striking.  
He had tried. He had tried so hard to save as many as he could. He had built his own boat, he had gathered as many children as he could, he had planned everything. As soon as Aziraphale and he had discussed God's plans, he had tried to stop it. Or, well, not to stop it, but to prevent a part of the utter destruction it would cause. He couldn't save all of them, he couldn't save it all, but he could save some of them. For his side, he would pretend it was an attempt to go against God's plan, and it truly was, actually. He wasn't scared for the side effects it would have on him and his relation with his superiors.  
But it hadn't worked. It hadn't worked at all. Maybe God herself had found out about his plan, or maybe humans were just that bad sometimes, but a group of angry men had come to destroy his ship. They had been angry at Noah and his ark too, but they hadn't destroyed the it. Maybe Aziraphale had something to do with that. Crawly wasn't sure. What he was certain of was that as he stared at his boat go up in flames, he couldn't find a way to hold back his tears.  
They were salty, and bitter, and they tasted like the first rain on Eden. They tasted a little bit like his Fall too. They tasted a lot like the first time he had asked an unwanted question, and was reprimanded for it. They tasted like doubt.  
He had fallen for questioning God, for his longing for knowledge, for his want to hear a reason behind his orders and actions of others. But the question why? was the most dangerous of all. He had learnt that a long time ago.  
He had watched the wood of his large boat turn into ashes, black smoke emerging out of colourful flames and floating upwards towards a sky that grew darker and darker, greyish puffs of smoke drifting towards blacker clouds and illuminated by the red and orange fire it appeared from. It was just before the rain would start, right before the seas would rise. It was right before God would kill them all…  
Why kill even the children?  
The same question was in his head again then, staring at the dancing blazes. The most dangerous of all, but God couldn't make him fall twice anyway, so there was no need to keep the question in.  
He shouted it out to the sky, his yellow eyes drowned in tears and fixed onto the firmament, his jaw clenched and anger and betrayal painted all over his features.  
Why the children too?  
He couldn't fathom a single valid reason for it. Why save one man and his family over all these innocent souls? How could God think that a grown-up man was purer than a new-born baby? How could she punish even the ones who hadn't done anything wrong to the world yet? It felt so wrong…  
Aziraphale had found him, drunk to no end, a week after the water had gone back its rightful place again. The flood was over, the seas and oceans had found back their rhythms, lakes and rivers were back to their normal quiet. But there was no one left, almost, to enjoy the peace.  
The angel had been looking for his hereditary enemy for days and days, but when he found him, it was in a dark little corner of a house lost in Northern Europe, surrounded by nothing but alcohol.  
There was something then that moved in Aziraphale's chest, that he knew he shouldn't have felt. Not for a demon, and anyway, not a movement like this at all. It didn't matter. He pushed the thought away. He had been worried when he hadn't found any trace of him after the flood – his reasonable inner voice argued it was because he ought to keep an eye on the adversary, his feelings told him otherwise, but he couldn't resolve himself into listening to them for now.  
He thought again of the day of the first rain, he thought of how natural it had felt to stretch a wing for Crawly to hide under, how easy it was to talk with him. He would have lied if he had pretended like he hadn't been happy to see him again after their parting on the walls of Eden. Even their encounter before the ark, although the circumstances were terrible, had brought a warm feeling to spread through his entire being.  
It was pain that conquered his frame now, as he looked at Crawly sitting on the ground, his arms wrapped around his knees, like a child thrown into the night who was afraid of the dark.  
He knelt by the demon's side, would try to shame him out of his drunken trance, to bring his mind back into focus on the world around him. It took him a single word to do so.  
"Crawly?"  
His head snapped up, and his golden eyes almost like amber then, in the dim light of the fire from the hearth nearby. Now that Aziraphale thought of it, the house smelled of burnt wood, ashes and spilled wine, and something absolutely indescribable that smelled just like Crawly.  
"Aziraphale?" he asked in a blur, his eyes unfocused although he was doing his best to rest his gaze upon the angel before him.  
Knots formed in Aziraphale's stomach at how hoarse Crawly's voice sounded as it passed his tightened throat.  
"I wondered where you had run off," he explained with a nervous little laugh. "Couldn't find you anywhere down there, in the south, so I thought… well, I wanted to know what you were up to. Demonic force unleashed upon the world and all that, of course…"  
Crawly shrugged.  
"Drinking, 's all."  
"I can see that."  
"You?"  
"Looking for you. That's all. I… I heard about your boat. Why did you build it?"  
A few tears escaped Crawly's eyes again.  
"The children," he merely answered, but he knew he didn't need to explain more of it for Aziraphale to understand what he meant. "But they destroyed it, and I… I couldn't save…"  
He loudly sniffed, drying his cheeks on his sleeve, but as soon as he put his arm around his knees again, some new tears rolled down to wet his skin once more.  
"They were crying. When the water was so high, and there was no place left to hide. They were crying… they were crying and there was nothing I could do…"  
"I know. I heard them too," Aziraphale whispered, hurrying to dry his eyes before Crawly could see how affected he was too.  
But the demon noticed it anyway.  
"Why would She let the children die?" he asked in a whisper, as if afraid to be heard by someone else than the angel before him.  
But Aziraphale shook his head.  
"I don't know. I really don't know. But, as I understand it, it's not our job to know this kind of things. We must accept it. God knows what purpose Her actions serve, and it is what matters."  
"But why can't I know too? Why is it so bad that I want to know why She did it?"  
Aziraphale had no answer, and he didn't pretend like he did have one.  
"I don't know."  
They stared at each other for a while, both of them trying to withhold their tears, and both of them miserably failing.  
"You should sober up," Aziraphale eventually broke the silence that had settled in the room, only disturbed by the cold wind howling outside and the fire cracking next to them.  
The night was violent, like many had been since the flood. The wind seemed unable to rest, the temperature had dropped unusually low for this time of the year, the animals roamed longer in the shadows under the moonlight. There was an unrest shaking the world, as if the flood had scared the Earth itself, and it was afraid God would do it again.  
She had promised she would not, though. Instead, She would invent rainbows.  
As they stared at each other, both Crawly and Aziraphale were shaken with the same urge, that they both refrained. They wanted to hold each other, even if for just a minute, feel the physical reassurance brought by someone who knew how they felt, knew what had happened since the beginning and knew how unfair it was, although none of them dared to speak the words they thought about. Instead, they just stared at each other for a while. There wasn't any word really invented yet to describe how they felt for each other. It was okay. They guessed it might be, one day, like all things had been invented before and would be invented later, the same way God was about to invent rainbows.  
Aziraphale moved to sit next to Crawly, against the wall of both mud and clay. He rested his back against the hard surface before taking Crawly's jar, and drinking some wine. It didn't taste very good, but it didn't matter. The alcohol was all he was looking for.  
Crawly meant to say it. That he was happy Aziraphale had come. That he felt better now that the angel was by his side. That he didn't want him to leave. That he hadn't stopped thinking about his kind smile, and his long white wing stretching in the first raindrops, and his ridiculously blond hair, and his clever blue eyes. That he had hoped their paths would cross more often than he could dare to admit. But he couldn't speak the words out loud, they were too dangerous, and he couldn't imagine a way for the angel to feel the same as he did. So instead, he mustered his last strengths to ask one more question, his voice low, weak, shaking in a breath.  
"Will you still be here in the morning?"  
Aziraphale found himself wanting to cry again, but he didn't. Crawly's question sounded a lot like please, don't go. Please, stay.  
"We'll see," the angel answered in a hesitant voice.  
Although his words sounded a lot like I will.

\-------------------------------------------------------

It was the middle of the night. There had been no signs of evil lurking around the town, no words from Hell to notify Crawly about moving pieces around. He wasn't even sure if it was a mere accident or if Hell was involved. All he knew was what he could witness now: the consequences of an event he couldn’t stop anymore.  
The great library of Alexandria was burning, and within its walls, the greatest treasures of mankind turned into ashes: knowledge and beauty.  
History, philosophy, poetry, tales… all were turning from scrolls to blazes right under his eyes, and there wasn’t much he could do. If he were to be honest, he didn’t much care about the texts. He cared about the angel he was certain to find there.  
Without fail, Aziraphale was here. He seemed desperate, yet focused his efforts in an attempt to contain the fire and stop it from spreading across town. Crawly could see a few people lying on the ground, safely, a few meters away from the burning building. Somehow, he knew the angel had used his powers to get them out of the fire and save their lives.  
Crawly would be in trouble if he was caught helping Aziraphale with the burning inferno, and he reckoned he could hardly take such a tremendous risk. There were hundreds of people around, too many eyes that could have been watching for his reaction, for his actions. He couldn’t take the risk to have Hell learn about the way he felt for Aziraphale. He didn’t dare to imagine what either of their sides would do to them if they learnt…  
He couldn’t work in plain sight, but he could do some discreet work. He could move to adjacent streets and bless them against the coming fire, he could disguise himself to evacuate the people in neighbouring streets. He could heal the wounded who had been taken away from the flames. Finally, he could miracle himself inside the library, just for a few seconds, just long enough to grab an armful of scrolls, and miracle himself out again.  
And it's exactly what he did that night.  
At dawn, he found Aziraphale in his house, not far from the burning library. The flames had spread to more buidings, but the angel lived far enough in the city to be safe. The blazes were weakening, slowly yet surely. There was little more to do except wait for it all to be over.  
Crawly brought with him a large bag, containing the scrolls he had saved and a large jar filled with wine.  
He knocked four times in a particular pattern, the code he and Aziraphale had designed to let the other know who was visiting. It was safer this way. If another Angel was with Aziraphale now, he would make some noise, either by breaking some pottery, raising his voice or coughing… no matter what, something loud and clear that would tell Crawly to run as fast as possible.  
Instead, he recognized the faint sound of slow, reluctant steps coming closer to the door, and Aziraphale soon appeared before him.  
The angel seemed exhausted, desperation extinguishing the usual glint that shone in his blue eyes. He had scratches on his cheeks and arms, even a rather deep burn on his left upper-arm. He didn’t seem to care much about them though.  
Crawly clenched both his fists and jaw. He wished he’d known for certain who was truly responsible for this. He would make sure to send them straight to Hell. But for now, the culprit was a mere rumour, and it wasn't enough…  
"What do you want? Has something happened?" he asked the demon, still blocking the way, preventing Crawly from stepping inside.  
"Has something happened? Are you serious? You think I haven’t noticed the library burning?"  
"Did you have something to do with that?"  
Crawly’s gaze softened, and he spoke in a soothing tone this time.  
"No, Aziraphale. It wasn’t me. I just wanted to see how you were doing. I know you loved the place."  
It was Aziraphale’s time to soften, and he moved aside, letting the demon in. He locked the door behind them.  
"Do you think it comes from your side?" Aziraphale asked in a hesitant voice.  
"I don’t know. They didn’t tell me anything."  
"You really didn’t know?"  
Crawly turned to face Aziraphale, eyes of sulphur and amber meeting irises as blue as the sea. And when the demon answered, the angel had to doubt that he was telling him the truth. Crawly had always been a terrible liar… at least with Aziraphale.  
"I would have tried to stop it if I knew."  
"Really?"  
Crawly shrugged, trying to look casual, but his voice sounded a little too fragile.  
"Hey, you know… knowledge can lead to questioning, and I’m the living proof that your side doesn’t like questions. So obviously, it would have been a very demonic thing to do."  
But his tone and the softness of his voice, and the look in his eyes that seemed almost tender were rather saying he would have done it for Aziraphale.  
"Heard it was because of good old Julius again," Crawly went on. "Burnt ships near the harbour, the fire spread through the parts of town closer to the sea. I can't be sure it's the real reason behind it all, though, maybe it is another demon. Anyway, I'm sorry."  
Aziraphale let himself fall on a chair around his wooden table, heaving an exhausted sigh. When he spoke again, Crawly could hear the tears in his voice.  
"I couldn’t save anything. Just the people inside, but not a single scroll, nothing more. I should have prevented it altogether. What kind of angel am I? Not even able to protect a library…"  
Crawly sat down as well, pulling the chair across the floor to sit right in front of the angel. He took out of his bag the jar and the scrolls. Aziraphale’s eyes grew round at the sight of the parchments.  
"I arrived too late, I’m sorry," Crawly mumbled, looking uncomfortably away from the angel as he handed him the texts, while Aziraphale was now staring at him again, his mouth a little agape with a mixture of shock and hope. "I couldn’t save much. Had time for only one trip inside."  
"You went inside? After the fire started?"  
"Well… you were busy helping around the library, so… yeah. Anyway, you know, demon, fire… suits me better than it suits you."  
He handed the scrolls still, but Azirapahale wasn’t making any movement to take them.  
"You went inside to save those?" Aziraphale went on, his voice shaking.  
"No need to make a big deal of it," Crawly replied.  
"You could have been hurt!"  
"I wasn’t."  
He shook the parchments a little, a silent plea for the angel to finally reach out and take them. It felt like Crawly was handing over more than a few scrolls though, something of him that he didn’t dare to name but that had been Aziraphale’s for a while.  
The angel eventually took the scrolls in his hands, shaking a little as the dry parchment fell under his fingers, as he grasped the only things of the library that remained. He had spent so many hours there, had found so many stories and essays to add to the collection. It was all gone now. All, except for the seven scrolls he was now holding in his trembling hands.  
And it was thanks to Crawly.  
"Thank you," he whispered, his cheeks wet with tears, but Crawly shushed him in a hurry.  
"Don’t say something like that! Imagine if someone was listening! Besides… there’s no need for a thank you, really. It’s alright."  
Aziraphale hesitated when he spoke again. He could have told a lie, or speak his mind. It was a battle he often fought around Crawly. He found himself longing to speak out words that an angel should never say, and even less so to a demon.  
He was too tired, too distraught, too desperate to think about Heaven’s rules at this moment though.  
"Crawly, if I… if I can ask for one more favour I… I think I would… like some companionship right now?"  
But his voice sounded like he truly meant please, stay. Crawly, for the love of God, stay.  
The demon struggled to hide the smile that tried to form on his lips.  
"Yes, angel. I can do that. In fact, I came prepared."  
He took the jar he had brought, and poured a drink for both of them. And Aziraphale, despite his tears, smiled.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------

"So… you made this one?"  
Crowley nodded his head, blushing a little and mumbling an incomprehensible answer.  
"I didn't know you used to make stars," Aziraphale breathed, clearly impressed. "It's lovely. I've always liked stars."  
"Wasn't any big deal, really."  
"No big deal?! Crowley! Of course, it is! They are beautiful!"  
Crowley shyly smiled.  
"Thanks."  
"I think this one is my favourite," Aziraphale smiled, wiggling a little, the scroll he had brought to share with Crowley completely forgotten by his side now. "Yes, most definitely. It's gorgeous."  
"Actually, there are two stars," Crowley explained. "But they're very close, the closest there are in the sky. And they are so close, you can't make the difference between them, and only see one. I thought… I thought it was… meaningful, at the time. To have two things so close they seem to be just one."  
"Soulmates," Aziraphale smiled and nodded.  
"Yes, like soulmates."  
"What's their name? You haven't told me."  
"Alpha and Beta Centauri."  
"Oh, so lovely…"  
They had eaten dinner together, it was the beginning of the oyster season. They had walked a little through Rome as twilight painted the sky with gold. They had settled down in the forum, sitting on the edge of a wall, at the top of a flight of stairs. Despite the scroll that Aziraphale had brought for Crowley, the conversation had settled on the firmament as the angel enjoyed the view of the burning stars through the branches of cypresses. And that's when Crowley had revealed that a long time ago, before his fall, he had helped creating them. And the angel couldn't refrain the wave of affection aimed at Crowley that washed over him at the thought of the demon creating some of the most beautiful things in all of Creation.  
"You've never told me," Aziraphale said softly, carefully, as if he spoke to a child he feared to scare away, "how it happened."  
"Making stars? Nothing that complicated, you just need gas and a little bit of heat and then… then the trick is to make them hold together in equilibrium. Also, the balance of colours is tricky, and that takes a while. Other than that, it's not that hard."  
Aziraphale chuckled.  
"I didn't mean the stars, but I'm glad to know that now."  
Crowley nodded knowingly.  
"I know you didn't mean the stars."  
He remained silent, and the angel decided to back away.  
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you."  
"Hurt me?"  
"Well, it… must be quite a painful memory. I shouldn't have asked that."  
"Yeah, yeah… it was quite painful, indeed."  
Crowley's voice was weak now, a little too deep as well. It sounded far off, remoted, as if he spoke from another world. He seemed lost in memories he wished he could forget.  
"You… we should talk about something else, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you."  
Crowley shook himself and turned to Aziraphale again, a casual smile on his face.  
"'S alright, angel. Nothing to worry about. I'm fine. I just… haven't really talked about it since it happened."  
"Really? But it was a long time ago."  
"Demons aren't really the 'open up and share your trauma' types."  
"Neither are angels," Aziraphale muttered with a wince.  
"I know. I remember that."  
"Look I… if you want to talk about it, because it would help you… now or whenever you'd feel like it, then I will be here to listen to you, Crowley. And on the contrary, if it makes you feel uncomfortable to mention it, then it's okay too."  
The demon slowly nodded, feeling his throat tightening and tears blurring the world around him.  
How could Aziraphale be so kind? Even with him? A demon? No one had ever been so kind to him…  
Silence settled around them for a while. It was already late at night, and yet a few people kept on walking through the city, either to fetch more wine to drink or on their way home. The torches set around the forum attracted insects and a few fireflies were buzzing around the place, tiny dots of light moving through the stony lane and buildings.  
When he spoke again, Crowley's voice was soft, distant again, a mere whisper almost destroyed by the blowing breeze, and yet Aziraphale did hear him. And maybe it was a little bit of a miracle.  
"I didn't mean to fall, you know? I mean I… I didn't stop believing in Her. I didn't choose to follow Satan. I simply… I wanted to know. I wanted to know why things were the way they were. And I asked too many questions. And as no one would tell me, I asked around, and I kept on asking, and I hung around the wrong people in the end and… And when they fell, they pulled me down with them, but I didn't… I didn't choose a side. I was molested into one. Because I asked why and She didn't like that. I… sauntered vaguely downwards. That's all I did. I never understood why, here again. Why is it a bad thing to want to know why…"  
His voice broke, he sniffed, and Aziraphale had to dry his own cheeks too.  
"I'm sorry, Crowley," he whispered, his tone matching the demon's.  
"It hurt so much… it burnt… it burnt so much and my wings…"  
His voice broke again, and this time, he couldn't muster the strength to speak again. Aziraphale rested a reassuring hand on his back, stroking gently, soothingly. Crowley didn't dare to move, too scared the angel would stop. He struggled to control his breathing, but miserably failed.  
"It's over now," Aziraphale whispered in a warm voice. "Besides, your wings are still beautiful."  
Crowley dried his cheeks as he let out a little laugh.  
"Yeah, well… they used to be so white."  
"I think they suit you better in black."  
They looked at each other and exchanged a smile. Aziraphale had moved his hand to rest where one of Crowley's wing should appear, and he traced circular patterns there. It was intimate, trusting… and Crowley couldn't breathe at all by now.  
"Angel?"  
"Yes, dear?"  
"Are you scared of me?"  
Aziraphale frowned.  
"Why would I be?"  
"I just… I don't want you to be scared of me. I know I'm a demon but I… I would never do anything to hurt you. You know that, right? We're… I wouldn't do that."  
He almost said that they were friends, but he couldn't. He didn't want to go too far, and that was not the point. If Crowley knew the way he felt for the angel, if he had put words onto the feelings making his heart swell right now, he couldn't imagine for a second that Aziraphale could feel the same.  
He was a demon, and Aziraphale… oh Aziraphale was the brightest, the kindest angel there was. He was a burning, but just like a star, Crowley was doomed to admire him from afar. Just like a star, he was unreachable…  
For these past few years though, as they both lived in Rome, they had become closer than ever before. They spent time eating together, and talking, and taking walks, and laughing… If there was always a shadow following them that they tried to run away from, they still took the risk to see each other. If they were still careful and looked over their shoulders, they met anyway. Crowley reckoned it was enough, it was already more than he had thought possible not so long before.  
The angel nodded.  
"I know, Crowley. I know. And I won't ever do anything to harm you either."  
"Oh… I know, angel. You're too soft for that."  
Aziraphale laughed, but could hardly deny Crowley's words.  
"Angel?"  
"Yes, dear?"  
"Will you still be here in the morning?"  
The angel had heard the question several times before, and he knew that the hidden meaning behind the soft words was please, stay.  
Aziraphale gave him a bright, tender smile.  
"We'll see."  
But it sounded a lot like I will.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The arrangement had been going on for a while now. A few centuries. Crowley smiled at the thought that they needed an actual arrangement, after all these years they had spent in the same cities through the Roman Empire. After all, it was rare that Heaven and Hell did not turn both their attentions on the same spot.  
But he guessed that their official arrangement was needed after that night. He still couldn't fully comprehend what had happened, all that he was certain of, was that after that night at the forum, Aziraphale had not be the same. He had slowly and yet irremediably pushed Crowley away. Maybe it was because of the pressure of Heaven and Hell, he seemed more afraid after that night. Or perhaps Crowley had said something he shouldn't have. The demon didn't know. All he knew was that Aziraphale had drifted away after that night, until they agreed on that arrangement. It wasn't about eating oysters together, sharing a jar of wine, or walking through deserted streets under the stars while Aziraphale talked about this new scroll he had found and Crowley laughed at how silly children were. It was about being there for each other though, if one needed help. Not that Crowley would have not helped the angel without any official bond between them, but then, he guessed that Aziraphale didn't feel the way he did.  
He kept on reminding Crowley about their sides, about being meant to be enemies, about responsibilities, about how things were and all that. He didn't hold this kind of discourse when they both lived in Rome, a few centuries back. Crowley didn't need the reminder though. He remembered perfectly about Heaven and Hell, and how they were not supposed to even talk to each other. Yet, they did, and he loved it. He wanted to. He failed to understand what was so bad about talking with an angel, they were of the same essence after all. He had merely tripped along the way, he hadn't even meant to fall…  
He pushed the thought away and walked to meet Aziraphale on a defined location in Rome. The Italian sun was warm and bright, and the sky as blue as the peaceful sea. It was a beautiful day to walk under the shades of cypresses.  
He paid little attention to the crumbling Coliseum, the ruins abandoned. He had never been much of an adept of anything going on inside those anyway. Some other demons found the sight of slaves being killed and devoured in front of a crowd delightful, but he was not one of them. Some of the races could be entertaining though, as they didn't involve anyone dying… most of the time.  
But the Roman Empire was long gone, buried deep in the earth and forgotten under the dust settling on the ruins. As he walked through the streets of Rome again, he couldn't stop himself from thinking about all these memories shared with Aziraphale. He couldn't recall any other time when they had spent as much time with each other. Rome was the beating heart of the European world by then, even a little broader than that at one point, stretching boundaries through the north of Africa and the west of Asia.  
He remembered… oysters, and honey on bread, and red wine, and stories read late at night, and speeches in the forum, and sitting side by side before Socrates…  
It was a long time ago, though.  
Something had changed, something… a rush of wind blowing open a window to reveal the outside world one had tried to forget. It was dangerous for them to see each other. It was forbidden. It was bad. Crowley didn't care though, he couldn't find a way to make it matter, not when he saw Aziraphale smile and wiggle a little in content. No, such sight was worth every risk.  
The angel did not think so boldly though, of course. But as long as Crowley could still see him, even if it required a little preparation each time, it didn't matter. He would accept all that the angel was ready to give him. If it was friendship, then so be it. If it was mere acquaintances, then he would gladly play a courteous game. As long as he had an excuse to meet up with the angel every other month, then all was fine.  
Eventually, he reached the bank of the Tiber passing at the feet of the Castle Sant'Angelo. Its tall walls rose above the water, proud protectors of unknown treasures and secrets darker than a starless sky. Crowley climbed up to reach the passage entering the castle. It was busy with people, and yet he had no trouble spotting the angel he was looking for, who had found a little bit of coolness in the shade of one of the statues. The tall angels and saints of stones that decorated the long passage on each side seemed to be guarding the castle itself. Crowley almost expected one of them to start moving, grab him and throw him out of town. Of course, they didn't, and he reached Aziraphale without trouble. He tightened his grip on the little box in his hands, trying to hide how his heart was beating faster and faster at every meter separating them that Crowley's legs devoured.  
Aziraphale checked around them, but didn't see anything suspicious, so he turned to the approaching demon, struggling to stifle a smile.  
"Crowley. Is anything the matter?"  
"Hello, angel. I'm fine, you?"  
"Well, yes, obviously. But you said that you had to see me, that it was important. What happened?  
"It's fine, angel. Relax."  
"It's not about… I mean… your side…"  
"No one knows. Stop it! I just… had something to give you."  
Aziraphale frowned hard.  
"To give me?"  
"Yes. Here you go. Done."  
He handed Aziraphale the box. It wasn't going exactly the way he had planned, but it didn't really matter, he felt a little embarrassed now that he had to actually give Aziraphale his present.  
The angel stared at the box with astonishment written all over his face, changing slowly into suspicion.  
"What is it?"  
"Open it, and you'll see. I just… I thought you would be interested in having it. I know how much you love this kind of things."  
Aziraphale eventually took the gift and gave Crowley one last confused look before opening the lid. He let out a gasp.  
He touched the leather cover with reverence as he held the book in his hands, putting the box down on the ground to get a better grip on the delicate object.  
"Yeah, had to put it in a box, for obvious reason. I don't really like holy things, as you know," Crowley started to babble.  
"Is it…?"  
"Yes, it is. The first one Gutenberg printed, a few months ago. I knew you had heard of his new invention. Although, I'm not quite sure how close the whole system is to the Korean printing method. But hey, you know how Europeans are…"  
But Aziraphale had stopped listening at 'yes'. He had opened the book, turning the pages and reading just a couple of words here and there. It was beautiful…  
"Oh, Crowley… but how did you get it?" he asked, a shining grin on his face blinding even the sun.  
Crowley struggled to swallow, grateful to be wearing his glasses to hide a part of his reaction. He wasn't certain to remember the human way to breathe too.  
"Just… went to buy one. I didn't steal it, if it's your question."  
"You went all the way to Mainz?"  
"Yes. It's not such a long trip, you know?"  
"Just… just to get me this?"  
"Well… you love books. And it's the brand-new technology to make them. I have to admit it's rather brilliant. I knew you were busy here, and I had nothing better to do."  
He was certain to see tears in Aziraphale's eyes, or well, almost certain, but the angel looked away in an attempt to hide how touched he was.  
Crowley had a talent to do these kind of things… always be here when Aziraphale needed him. Always being… kind. The angel couldn't recall anyone being as kind with him as Crowley never failed to be. Demon or not…  
"There's a spelling mistake, at one point," Crowley explained. "But it's the very first one printed, so I bought it anyway. I think they corrected it afterwards, but then it's like… getting a second edition. Besides, it makes it more unique, its little imperfection."  
"And you're a demon, you would of course adore every imperfection you can find in any holy object."  
"Of course, angel. I have a reputation to maintain!"  
They laughed, and Crowley – just like Aziraphale, in fact – realized he hadn't laughed since he and the angel had parted ten months before.  
Oh, he had missed the angel so much…  
"I'll try to spot the mistake then," Aziraphale smiled. "You are right, it does make it quite unique. Are you sure it's not one of your demonic works?"  
"Maybe it is," Crowley smiled wickedly.  
Aziraphale chuckled.  
"Well, it will obviously make me think of you when I spot it, then."  
There was something softer in his voice, something Crowley hadn't heard ever since that night in Rome. Ever since Aziraphale had declared it was too dangerous, and he couldn't take the risk to be discovered with a demon…  
And Crowley truly wanted to answer with a witty phrase, but his mind was blank as he looked right through the angel's blue eyes at the fragility that hid there, at the shy smile that tugged at his lips as if asking can we? And Crowley wished, oh he wished for it so bad… he wished he could answer yes, we can.  
But they couldn't. For now, they only had the hope of a maybe, one day, perhaps, almost... And that's what his sad smile was silently saying.  
Aziraphale nodded in understanding, and pressed the book to his heart.  
"Well, thank you. It's a beautiful gift."  
Crowley shrugged, mumbling an answer under his breath that the angel failed to understand.  
"Would you like to eat something?" the angel proposed. "It's summer, and I've heard the peaches are particularly good this year."  
Crowley gave Aziraphale a soft, almost dreamy smile. The invitation sounded more like a prayer. It sounded like a please, stay.  
"Why not, angel?"  
And these sounded more like a promise than an answer. These words sounded like a I always will.

\--------------------------------------------------------------

He had tried to contact Aziraphale, and this time not merely because he thought he could use their arrangement as an excuse to see the angel by asking him to perform a temptation for him. This time, it was about humans. This time, he really did need some help.  
He washed with a wet clothe the burning forehead of the little girl lying before him. No one else was willing to enter the house, her parents were long gone, their bodies abandoned somewhere, he didn't even know where exactly, and he didn’t care. Her breathing was laboured, her lips turning blue. He couldn't save her.  
He had tried. He was good at healing, repairing, creating. He was good at those, once, an eternity ago, he had been a builder, and he had kept parts of the skill as a demon. But there was something more with this disease, something even he couldn't cure. He wondered which side had created it, his or Heaven, or maybe even God herself. It didn't really matter, he knew all of them could have done it, probably would have if they had thought about it first, and it was enough of an answer for him.  
In the great plan of God about the universe and mankind, Crowley still couldn't begin to understand how these kinds of events fitted in the whole canvas. He had been thinking for a long time about what Aziraphale had once told him, about how humanity got to choose between good and evil. He couldn't fathom how this Black Death fitted into that great will of guiding or testing humanity. Their world was hard enough without creating such terrible sickness, without killing entire families, children… Even the innocent ones suffered in the world, and they did not need a plague to do so.  
How could the death of so many fit in the Great Plan? How could the death of this child before him fit?  
He brushed away some of her dark hair, and bathed her black skin with cool water again. Claire. That was her name. Claire. He liked how it sounded, how it rolled on his tongue. It was one of these names he found soothing, delicate, like a raindrop falling for the first time on a wall around Eden.  
He guessed there wouldn't be any humans to remember her, her whole family was already gone. His throat tightened and eyes stung, and he promised himself to never forget her.  
He could feel Death moving around the street, getting always closer and closer and closer to him and Claire. It was part of all things, it was always near, but ever since the plague had infiltrated London, Death was even more present than usual. Crowley now could feel it move around from a house to another, never resting, always taking, never giving.  
It was unfair that Death should take this child too, it was unfair, and Crowley wanted to stop it but couldn't.  
He felt it enter the house, ooze through the wood of the door, slip in between the windows and the walls, and take form behind him. He knew he wouldn't see its dark silhouette if he turned around though, so instead, he took Claire's hand in his. She was asleep, or maybe unconscious, it was hard to tell. It didn't matter, Crowley bent down over her still frame all the same to whisper in a strangled voice the most reassuring words he could find. And he wished for Azirapahle to be there again, the angel was much better at this than he was. Maybe it was because Aziraphale was an angel and he was a demon. Or perhaps it was because Crowley hated the idea to give up.  
"You'll be just fine. Don't be afraid. You're not alone, I'm still here. I'll stay until it's over, you don't have to be afraid. It's almost done."  
She didn't wake up. She didn't move. He didn't even know if by now she could hear him or if she was too far gone already.  
He didn't move before Death was long gone, moving to another house, to another soul, to another family. Claire's hand was cold in his fingers, and the same question was rising again in him. The same dangerous one he had been asking ever since the beginning.  
Why?  
He didn't move until he heard the door open, and he recognized the gasp that came next.  
"Crowley?"  
He didn't have the strength to turn around, or to reply, so he merely nodded in response. He heard Aziraphale's steps making the wooden floor crack: slow, careful steps, almost afraid, reluctant.  
The angel stood for a moment right behind him, watching Crowley's tall silhouette bent over the lifeless child lying in the tiny bed. For a moment, he had wondered if the plague had been a creation coming from Hell, he couldn't imagine any other explanation anyway. He couldn't think about another possibility. But now that he was looking at Crowley's numb form before him, now that he guessed the tears on his cheeks under his long mask without having to see nor hear them, he knew that the demon didn't know about any of it, at least.  
Aziraphale noticed that the demon was shaking. He couldn't say he was surprised. Crowley had always had a soft spot for children.  
He rested a comforting hand on Crowley's shoulder, that made him jump in surprise, but he didn't shrug it off.  
"I'll take care of her, my dear. Let me take care of her."  
Crowley slowly nodded, and finally let go of the child's hand. He moved aside, finding refuge against the nearest wall.  
"Claire. Her name is Claire," he told Aziraphale, who nodded knowingly.  
"I know, dear. I know. I'm sorry, I… I don't know why, I can't… I can't heal them."  
"Neither can I."  
"It is your side?"  
"I don't know."  
Crowley took off his mask, and they looked at each other, and without a sound, they both thought of a day long gone when the water got higher and higher, and it was raining like never before, and children were crying and shouting in fear, and rainbows had not yet been invented. And it seemed to both of them that the two moments echoed suspiciously.  
The angel moved to the door, but Crowley spoke again before Aziraphale could step outside.  
"Will you come back?"  
It was fragile, so fragile… begging, almost like a prayer.  
Aziraphale, turned a little his head towards him, but not enough to look over his shoulder. He didn't reckon he would have the strength to speak if he looked at Crowley's form sitting on the ground against the wall.  
"I'll see if I can."  
But Crowley was not fooled. There was another meaning behind the phrase, carried not by words, but by the angel's tone, and his sad blue eyes filled with tears. Truly, what he meant to say was yes, I will.

\------------------------------------------------------------

They had drunk wine beyond reason, but none of them cared. It was a warm evening in Paris, and despite the slaughter raging on outside, the little breeze blowing through the open window was nice all the same. The last rays of sunlight coloured the sky and room in a reddened light that matched the blood wetting the pavement outside. But both the demon and the angel pushed that thought away. They shut the outside world out altogether, actually. They hadn’t seen each other in a while, and they merely longed to spend time on their own again.  
Officially, the reason for this long absence out of each other’s life was merely that their assignments kept them busy and out of each other’s way. In reality, there was another reason behind their separation.  
Gabriel had started dropping by to watch Aziraphale more closely. Not that he cared about how Aziraphale dealt with humans, but he seemed suspicious over something all the same. The last time he had dropped by, it was to reprimand him for too many ‘frivolous miracles’, but Aziraphale couldn’t help suspecting another hidden reason for the archangel’s visit. And if the reason was a suspicion towards Crowley, then there was no choice but to make sure to put distance between them. Despite Crowley’s protest and reassuring words, Aziraphale just couldn’t take the risk. He didn’t dare to imagine what Hell would do to him if they learnt about their arrangement.  
Without his ability to perform miracles these days, Aziraphale had thought it would be a good idea to travel out for a while, and his taste for good food had naturally guided his steps to France. He had underestimated the violence of the Revolution raging there though.  
Finding himself in this cold and wet cell, listening to the high-pitched sound of the blade falling and the thud noise of its colliding with flesh and breaking bones, he found himself ridiculous. It was a rather stupid - and unpleasant - way to be discorporated.  
And then the executioner had frozen during his bragging about his executional skills, and Crowley was there.  
Launched nonchalantly in the darkest cornet of the cell, dressed in black as usual, his crimson hair ablaze despite the dim light… oh Aziraphale had been so happy to see him.  
They had eaten crêpes after walking free, his former executioner now to be added to the count of victims. They had moved from the restaurant to the angel’s room as the end of the afternoon drew near, and most of his good bottles of wine were now empty.  
Crowley was now sprawled across Aziraphale’s sofa, his glass half full, the red liquid dangerously close to the edge as he lazily held his drink lopsided. His sunglasses had slowly slipped down the edge of his nose and were now hiding nothing. His pupils were a little more dilated than usual, yet they kept their vertical shape, snake-like, golden with hints and touches of orange and amber, and Aziraphale was grateful for the pair of glasses to have abandoned their duties, for he truly found Crowley’s eyes beautiful. If he were to be honest with himself, he had always thought so.  
He pushed the thought away though as he drank more red wine. A pinch of guilt tightened around his heart, and a little voice as the back of his head, familiar and reprehensive, reminded him that he shouldn’t carry such thoughts, less alone towards a demon.  
But Crowley had been here to save him today, like he had always been, whenever something bad happened to him or mankind, he was there. After all these millennia since the garden, Aziraphale had never been afraid of Crowley. In fact, even if he forced his brain to summon such horrid vision, he was incapable of imagining Crowley doing anything to hurt him. He trusted the demon beyond reason, but after all, Crowley had proved him over the centuries that he could trust him blindly.  
There was always this shadow following them everywhere though, the everlasting veil separating them. This little voice at the back of his head repeating that they were on opposite sides.  
Did it really matter though? Sides? Were there even sides on Earth? He had learnt long ago that humans were a complicated mix of good and evil, one half stirring while the other suffocated, until the strength of each part shifted again. Some fell into light more than darkness, some other the opposite, but at the end of the day, the world was made of shades of grey, not black and white. And after all this time walking the same earth as Crowley, Aziraphale knew that he was not evil. There was too much good in him to be.  
He thought about the veil between them again, while Crowley heaved a sigh, letting his head fall back against the sofa, looking at the wine in his drink, a little smile tugging at the corner of his lips. If Gabriel or Michael ever learnt about the way he thought of Crowley…  
He shuddered, he couldn't dare to imagine, he couldn't…  
"Alright there, angel?" Crowley inquired with a frown.  
"Of course."  
"So, what are you going to do now? Better not stay around Paris, or France altogether, for that matter."  
"No, I guess not. I guess I'll go to London then, I… I still want to open that bookshop. You've always said I needed some safe place to store my books."  
"People will try to buy them if you open a bookshop, you know?"  
"Ha… don't worry, I'm sure I'll manage to convince them otherwise."  
Crowley let out a bright wave of laughter, that brought a smile to Aziraphale's face.  
"Oh, I bet you will!" Crowley kept on laughing, carrying his glass to his lip. "I bet you will…"  
"What about you? What are you going to do?"  
But Crowley shrugged, and of his laughter only a sad smile remained.  
"London sounds good, I guess. For a while, at least."  
There was a short silence, but Aziraphale could read on Crowley's face that he wanted to speak again, so he waited for him.  
The red sunlight brushed against Crowley's hair, and it seemed redder than ever. It shone almost like a bleeding halo. And as he stared at his friend – such a reckless word to think of, but no one but them was there, and Gabriel could do a lot of things, but reading an angel's thoughts were not one of them – a dangerous question rose through his mind.  
Why did Crowley have to fall?  
"Are they still watching you more closely than usual, up there?" the demon asked slowly, a little too slowly, in fact, a little too breathlessly, a little too weakly to hide the fragility in his tone.  
"I'm afraid so," Aziraphale nodded.  
"What are you going to do about it?"  
"There's nothing I can do, Crowley. I can only… wait and hope they'll let me be."  
Crowley slowly nodded.  
"Right… better stay out of your way then."  
Aziraphale slowly nodded, no matter how much it hurt him to do so. He didn't dare name the feeling that grew in his chest, the reason why it saddened him so to have to stay away from the demon.  
"Yes, I guess it would be best."  
Crowley on the other hand knew perfectly why it hurt that much to hear Aziraphale's words. It was his heart breaking. But then, it wasn't the first time it was shattered because of the angel, and Crowley was fairly certain that it wouldn't be the last either.  
But he couldn't say no to Aziraphale. He had never been able to do so, and it was not going to start now. Even if it meant breaking his own heart, even if it meant shattering a part of him, even if it meant staying away. He hated himself a little for that, for being so weak when it came to Aziraphale, to this want, or even need to please him, to make him happy, to make him smile, no matter the means. A jolt of rebellion rose inside him at the thought. The heartbeat in his chest that he didn't even need quickened, and his jaw clenched as a reflex. He sat a little straighter in the sofa and finished his glass, before miracling it full again.  
"But not tonight," he spoke in a certain and firm voice, before turning to stare at Aziraphale, and his expression changed. From determined, his features softened into something hopeful, more fragile, asking for reassurance. "Right?"  
Aziraphale opened his mouth to answer, but nothing came out. He wanted to deny it all, to refuse, to push Crowley away even now. It was the safest thing to do. It was what the little voice at the back of his head screamed for him to do. But it seemed that the veil was a little thinner tonight, maybe it was rising a little even, right at the corner. And that could be enough, for just one night…  
"Angel… will you still be here in the morning?"  
Aziraphale's breath caught in his throat as a memory he thought had been lost to him suddenly flashed before his eyes.  
A shared jar of liquor after the flood. A shared pain. The memory of children crying. A silent and sleepless night that healed parts of their wounds all the same. Crowley had asked the same question then, and had asked it again many times since. He was so broken that night… And the same way it did then, now, it sounded much like a please, don't go. Please, stay.  
And Aziraphale found that no matter his voice crying in his head about sides, and angels, and demons, and dangers, he couldn't deny his friend's plea.  
His lower lip trembled but he hoped Crowley had not noticed it, just like he hoped that the demon would not notice how unsteady his voice was.  
"We'll see," he answered.  
But it sounded a lot like a I will.

\-------------------------------------------------------------

He spilled some wine as he poured himself another glass, but he didn't care. His ridiculous hat rested at his feet, and of that as well, he didn't care.  
He wanted to cry so hard, but tried to hold it all back. He was trying his best to not crumble. He was always trying his best…  
Three years since that stupid row in Saint James's Park, and not a word from Aziraphale. Not a note, not a whisper, not a sound. Nothing.  
He shouldn't have asked for holy water, perhaps, and yet, he needed some. Just in case they found him. In case they came after him. In case they came after Aziraphale too…  
Crowley heaved a sigh, passing a hand across his tired face. He knew it was a bad idea, but he didn't care at this point. He missed him so much…  
He bent down and picked up his hat, walked through his kitchen and across his living room to the door of his flat.  
It was a terrible idea, and him being drunk did not make things better. At this point though, it didn't matter. Nothing mattered… He had to see Aziraphale. He had to see if he was okay. He would have felt it if anything had happened to him, he always felt it, whenever the angel was in danger. But being physically fine didn't mean being fine. Crowley was the perfect example right now.  
In the streets of London, it was a busy Saturday afternoon. Despite the cold wind of autumn that carried skeleton leaves in twirling patterns to the crowd's feet, many were hurrying back and forth across the city. London was always so busy… On any other day, Crowley would have appreciated the sight of all these humans living around him. But not today.  
He walked a path his feet knew by heart. He didn't need to think about the itinerary, he simply knew it. Because he had walked that same paths so many times ever since Aziraphale had opened his bookshop, but also because it was Aziraphale. He was drawn to the angel, no matter what, where or when. Crowley was merely the arrow of a broken compass that kept on pointing at Aziraphale, never faltering, always reaching, never touching.  
His feet guided him through the city until he was in Soho, on the opposite side of the street, staring at the angel's bookshop.  
There was no way to see inside, not from where Crowley stood, but he was afraid of getting closer. He couldn't let Aziraphale see him. He just… no, he couldn't.  
He leaned against the wall of the house behind him, and patiently waited. Surely, eventually, someone would open the door and walk inside the shop, and Crowley would get a chance to steal a glimpse inside.  
He waited for hours. He ignored the cold that bit his skin, how he shivered in the wind, the leaves that gathered at his feet. He ignored how time was slow to move through the afternoon. No one was coming to the shop.  
The sun was setting, and Crowley was almost ready to give up. He would come back the next day if he had to.  
But then, the door opened, but not from the outside like the demon had expected, but from the inside. And Aziraphale walked out.  
There he was, still wearing this same stupid coat, and his hat from which blond locks still escaped. His cheeks turned a little pink in the cold. He was too far to clearly see his eyes, but it didn't really matter, he could see them so often in his dreams, sometimes even wide awake.  
He was wearing a tartan scarf and some white gloves too to fight the cold. Crowley smiled as his vision became blurry with tears. Always with his bloody tartan…  
He seemed well. He seemed his normal self. He seemed safe. Crowley could hardly ask for more.  
Aziraphale locked the shop and walked with a determined pace down the street. Where was he going? Who would he meet? Crowley longed to know, but he didn't dare to follow him. What if he saw him and pushed him away for good?  
He moved a foot towards the street as if to cross it, to close the distance between them anyway, to join Aziraphale in the middle of this busy street without any care for all the dangers that the situation implied. He wanted to run to the angel and apologize, and promise him he would give up on this crazy idea of his about the holy water. He wanted to beg Aziraphale to forgive him, to forget about all of it. He wanted to shout at the top of his lungs how much it hurt to stay away from him and thinking the angel was still mad at him. But most of all, if only he could truly speak his mind, he would have wrapped his arms around Aziraphale and spoke words he had longed to let out ever since the first raindrop brushed Aziraphale's cheek and made him smile as he turned his face to the sky.  
I love you. It's always been you, it will always be. I don't care about sides, I don't care about Heaven and Hell, I love you, angel, and this should be enough. We could run away together. We could run and forget about sides. Build one of our own instead, one where it wouldn't be wrong for me to love you, and for you to love me back. Angel, please, I love you. I would do anything for you. Please, come back into my life. Be here in the morning. Please, stay, stay…  
Instead, he walked back in the opposite direction, discreetly hiding behind lampposts and against houses to keep an eye on the angel for as long as he could, until the tiny white dot disappeared altogether in the crowd. Maybe one day, after many years would have passed, Aziraphale would have forgiven him for his mistake in Saint James's Park, and they could be friends again. It was enough for him. He was ready to accept whatever the angel would be willing to give him, for as long as he would walk back into his life. This loneliness was pure torture.  
Aziraphale, stay, please, stay…

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------

The depth of mud was such that Aziraphale could barely advance through the trench. It was raining again, making the soil even more slippery than usual. He was covered in mud, covered in rain, freezing and wet and desperate. If his angelic body could not know disease, he had no trouble understanding why so many soldiers around him, if they didn’t die in battle, were too sick to fight.  
He couldn’t save all of them, no matter how much he wanted to. On his own, it was simply impossible, even if he decided to make so many miracles he would pass out, it would still not be enough. So he had to pick up his battles, and help with human means for the rest.  
He had heard that Crowley was in France as well, he ignored his exact location though. The thought of the demon being in danger was a constant weight on his shoulders, a cold hand constraining the beating of his heart. He wondered for a moment if his side was to blame for this, but his instinct told him otherwise. He couldn’t imagine the guilt Crowley would feel if he were responsible for this war.  
They hadn’t spoken since that afternoon at Saint James’s Park. Aziraphale was so scared his reaction could have pushed Crowley away for good. What if they weren’t friends anymore? Aziraphale could have done anything to see the demon again… except daring to.  
He came to kneel next to a seventeen-year-old boy, who had fallen sick two days before. He was out of the rain under the protection of a wooden roof added to the trench, but he wasn’t out of the mud, nor out of the cold. His fever had worsened during the night, but his life was not at risk yet. For now, he wasn’t worth a miracle.  
"How do you feel this morning, Jonathan?" Aziraphale inquired, resting his palm on the boy’s wet brow. The poor lad was burning.  
The boy was overcome by a raw and dry cough, and it took him a minute to calm down. Out of his bag, Aziraphale took a bottle of cough syrup, the last one left in the whole trench, and gave a gulp to the young man. Boy, he corrected himself. Jonathan wasn’t a man yet, he was just a boy.  
Distant shouts pulled Aziraphale’s mind back to the world around him, and he turned just in time to see men carrying stretchers through the trench. The brown of their uniform mingled with the mud covering them as they advanced with difficulty and yet persistence, shouting at the men around them to get out of the way.  
"Doctor Fell!" The sergeant leading them called for the angel, mud and blood staining his face, his moustache shimmering in the rain. "We’ve found three more on the field from yesterday’s charge!"  
"Bring them in!"  
They moved to one of the few barracks carved inside the muddy ground. It had once been the officers' quarters, but after months of fighting, it was now the closest thing to a hospital that they could get.  
They put the wounded down on the little space that was left in the crowded room. The air smelled of mud, cigarettes, blood and urea, a foul stench that reminded of Death.  
He quickly inspected the first man. He was unconscious, barely breathing. In a second, Aziraphale already knew that he was too far gone, saving him would mean using a miracle that could have saved three others. He moved to the next.  
But he didn't reach the next soldier. Instead, at the corner of his eyes, he caught a flash of red hair, like flames burning in the twilight sky, and he could only freeze. This heart in his chest that he didn't need stopped beating altogether, no air entered or left his lungs anymore. Instead, he merely stared for several seconds at the long curls splayed on the muddy ground. The face of the victim was hidden to him by one of the soldiers who had carried the wounded in standing between them.  
But the colour matched Crowley's hair, and he didn't doubt that if he had moved to help at the closest of battle, then the demon would have probably done the same. For the seconds that he remained standing there, motionless in the middle of the wounded soldiers moaning in pain, time stretching to last for what seemed to be forever, he desperately tried to calm himself down. Crowley could be discorporated, but he would come back then. He would come back. He would…  
Aziraphale strode past the soldiers, feeling his face grow pale, feeling the tears starting to fall down his cheeks. He was speaking, but he couldn't control the words he let out.  
"Crowley? Crowley?"  
Just a few strides, it took seconds and yet felt like six thousand years…  
He pushed the soldier aside to see the wounded lying on the stretcher on the ground. Red hair that burnt in the dim light of the lanterns. But…  
Aziraphale let out a strangled sob, his hand flying up to cover his mouth. He reached for the closest thing to him for support, which turned out to be the soldier's shoulder.  
It wasn't Crowley. It wasn't him… It was a young, freckled boy who couldn't be older than twenty and Aziraphale felt so guilty and angry against himself for the wave of relief that submerged him at the sight of this poor young man lying in the mud. But he couldn't help it. He had been so scared, he had believed… for a moment, his entire universe had crumbled and he…  
"Doctor? Are you okay?"  
He turned towards the sergeant again, nodding.  
"Yes, sorry… I thought… I thought…"  
"You thought you knew him."  
"Yes."  
"Do you?"  
"No. No, it's not… who I thought it was."  
The soldier by his side carefully took his arm, and for the first time, Aziraphale looked straight at him. He remembered him, his name was Charles. He had just turned eighteen a week before.  
How had the world turned into this? On his watch? The question kept repeating itself in his mind. What had Aziraphale done wrong?  
"Do you want to sit down for a minute?" Charles asked with concern. "You look very pale, doc."  
The angel slowly nodded and patted the man's shoulder.  
"Yes, yes… just a minute, I… am… quite shaken."  
"It's okay, doc. It wasn't him. Who did you think it was, anyway?"  
Aziraphale sat down in the only chair in the room, possibly in the whole trench.  
"A… A friend," the angel answered in a stutter. "My… best friend."  
"He's been sent here too?"  
"I… I don't know, Charles. I don't know where he is right now."  
"You must miss him."  
Aziraphale couldn't prevent another tear from rolling down his cheek as he nodded, unable to speak. His throat was too tight, his heart too broken, the load on his shoulders too heavy, and the pain… the pain of the war, the pain of all this sorrow, the pain of all this good he couldn't do, the pain of missing Crowley… were too much.  
What if he never saw Crowley again? What if their friendship was broken? What if they weren't friends anymore, what if… what if Crowley needed him, but Aziraphale wasn't there? What if this row at Saint James's Park was the last time he would see the demon, his friend… his only friend…  
He wished Crowley was here…

\-----------------------------------------------------------

The bombs kept on falling above London. The Blitz shook the city, destroying everything under its loud explosions. Aziraphale hurried to open the door of his bookshop to find shelter. In the dim light of the lampposts, he could barely see the keyhole, and resolved into miracling the door open. He had barely closed the door behind him that a bomb dropped nearby, the strength of the explosion extinguishing most of the lampposts in the street, exploding a few windows and shaking the whole street. A few books toppled over and fell from the shelves, the angel himself almost lost his balance.  
Nothing would happen to his bookshop though, he had made sure of it. He had protected his home and turned it into the safest place in London.  
He heaved a sigh, taking off his hat and coat, and getting ready to go upstairs to prepare himself a good cup of tea, when someone knocked on the door, and almost immediately tried to open it.  
It could either be someone who tried to find refuge, or a scavenger. Aziraphale froze, his back to the door, hesitating for just a second. Until…  
"Angel! Open the door!"  
Aziraphale spun around faster than one might have thought possible.  
"Crowley!"  
He ran more than walked to the door, unlocked it again, and opened it wide…  
… to discover Crowley on his threshold along with a dozen of children.  
"Come on, everybody inside," Crowley ordered, not waiting to get the angel's authorisation to push the children in the bookshop.  
Aziraphale let them all in, frowning hard.  
"Crowley… what…?"  
"Bombs. Children. Didn't have time to go to my place, your shop was closer," he explained in a hurry before turning to the children. "Do not touch the books."  
They seemed terrified. Crowley was still holding a little girl in his arms, who couldn't be more than six years old. She was crying in silence, holding on the demon's coat for dear life.  
"What were you doing out there?" Aziraphale asked.  
"Told you. Children. Someone's got to get them to safety, huh?"  
Aziraphale's gaze softened, and Crowley hissed, knowing exactly what the angel thought. And no, the demon was not nice…  
Aziraphale finally turned to the terrified children, all ages represented between five and fourteen, it seemed. They were wearing clothes that were closer to rags than proper coats and shirts, dirtied by mud for most of them. Aziraphale summoned his most reassuring smile.  
"What about I prepare a good hot cocoa for all of you. What would you say to that?"  
Another bomb came shaking the street, and most of the children cried in fear.  
"Don't worry, we're safe here," Crowley reassured them, following Aziraphale towards the back of the shop.  
The angel lightened some candles, the electricity had been cut on the whole neighbourhood with the previous bomb that had destroyed the lampposts in the street. There was not even any need to try to use light bulbs now.  
"Now, all of you can take a sit here, it'll take just a minute."  
"But what if the bombs fall here?" the little girl closer to Aziraphale asked in a trembling voice.  
But the angel gave her a warm smile.  
"No bomb is going to fall here, because I am a magician, you see?"  
"Really?" she asked with eyes going round with wonder.  
"Really," he proudly nodded. "And I am using my magic to keep the bombs away. So, you see, nothing can happen to you."  
"Magicians don't exist," the tallest boy protested, and all the smallest children that had felt reassured by Aziraphale's lie were now shuddering again. "And you're not helping her by lying to her!"  
"Lucas," Crowley reprimanded in a cold tone, resting a hand on the boy's shoulder," you are the one who is not helping right now. Sit down."  
The boy obeyed, sat down like the rest of the children on the floor.  
Aziraphale was gone for a mere minute before he was back with cups of hot chocolate. They didn't even know where he had prepared them, as there didn't seem to be any kitchen in the adjacent backroom. The cocoa was also at a suspiciously perfect temperature, but the night was too scary and strange for children to question the hot drink. Instead, they welcomed the hot beverage, along with the bread and apples the angel brought to them a few minutes later. They gathered around the centre of the room, surrounded by Aziraphale's desk and his most precious shelves filled with his favourite books. His portfolio of Shakespeare's plays, some Oscar Wilde poetry, seven extremely old scrolls, some letters he had exchanged with Dickens, and his collection of flawed bibles containing his most precious volume, the first ever printed by Gutenberg.  
The bombs kept on dropping around them, but just like Aziraphale had promised, none fell on the bookshop. After a few hours, the children were sleeping, some of them in Crowley's and Aziraphale's arms. And while silence settled on the street for a few minutes as dawn broke through the shadows of the night, the sun chasing away the moon and all the other stars, the angel took a moment to look at Crowley more carefully.  
It was the first time they saw each other since Crowley had bursted into the church and rescued Aziraphale. Since he had changed the course of a bomb to save his friend. Since he had been the thoughtful and tender demon he had always been and saved Aziraphale's precious books. The first time since the angel had put a name on these feelings he couldn't deny anymore.  
Now that he acknowledged them, he couldn’t even figure out when they had started. Probably around Rome, the first time. Or maybe Alexandria. He wasn't sure though. It felt too much like a tiny, fragile flower slowly growing, and growing and growing to become the brightest in a garden. But he couldn't define when the flower had become more beautiful than the others. His love for Crowley had been growing for such a long time, one tiny heartbeat at a time, that he couldn't say when the feeling truly started. He felt like it had always been there.  
After these decades missing him, worrying about him, wondering if he had broken whatever they had that afternoon at Saint James's Park, it had felt like a miracle of its own to see Crowley once again in the church.  
He had driven Aziraphale safely home, and that was it. He had disappeared in the night after Aziraphale had closed the door of his bookshop behind him, and nothing since. It had been months…  
He watched as the orange light of the candles trembled and shone in strange shapes into Crowley's red hair. His glasses had dropped a little down his nose, revealing just a part of his eyes, which colours matched the ones of the burning flames. Oh, how Aziraphale wished he could tell Crowley how he felt now…  
… but he was an angel, and Crowley a demon, and he couldn't… he could never change that. Which meant that he could never tell him that he loved him so ardently, so brightly, with so much strength that it burnt him from the inside, that it hurt so much…  
His eyes flickered down the length of Crowley's face, the demon's gaze resting onto the sleeping children, as if he stood watch over their slumber. Aziraphale suddenly noticed a long, dark line on the demon's temple, and he recognized it as dry blood.  
"Crowley, you're hurt," he blurted out in a whisper, breaking the silent that had settled down for several minutes now.  
The demon rolled his neck, making it loudly crack.  
"'S nothing, angel. I'll get rid of it at home."  
Outside, the dawn was breaking more and more the dark veil of the previous night, burning with pink and violet hues.  
"Let me take a look," Aziraphale insisted, slowly pushing the children out of his embrace and carefully resting their heads on the little cushions he had miracled earlier that night as they had started to doze off. "It'll be easier if I do it for you, you might get a scar if you heal yourself."  
"I'm good at healing!"  
"I know, dear. Nevertheless…"  
Crowley heaved an annoyed sigh and followed Aziraphale's lead, moving back to the main room of the bookshop. The angel guided him near a window to get more light. There was a rather large cut right above his temple, and a piece of glass seemed to still be inside the wound, a little shining fragment lost in the black demon blood.  
"You have some glass in the wound, I'll have to take it out before closing the cut. It is rather deep, Crowley! What happened?"  
"A window exploded right at my face."  
"Goodness… Crowley, you can't take risks like that!"  
"I had to. There was no one else around to help them."  
He didn't need to tell who was them. Of course, he had always had a soft spot for children.  
"I'll be right back."  
Aziraphale disappeared to look for a tweezer and some clean clothes and water.  
"That was very reckless of you all the same," he admonished as he reappeared in the room.  
Crowley took off his glasses to make it easier for Aziraphale to examine his wound. The angel put down the bowl of warm water and the clothes on the edge of the window, and started to extract the piece of glass from Crowley's wound.  
The demon yelped.  
"Now, don't overdo it," Aziraphale gave him a smug look that turned Crowley completely infuriated.  
He also could hardly breathe or think, or do anything as the angel stood so close to him, merely a few inches. A little movement of his head, and he could rest it against the angel's palm, let him cup his face, maybe even wrap his arms around Aziraphale and squeeze tight…  
If only…  
"Here, got it."  
He let the piece of glass fall into the bowl, dipped the clothes in the water and started to carefully wash both the demon's wound and the trail of dry blood on the side of his face. It was impossible for both of them to ignore how closely they stood, how they could have reached out, how…  
"I didn't properly thank you, for the books," Aziraphale decided to break the heavy silence that had settled between them, and he blushed fiercely while doing so, but blamed only his words, not the way he could feel Crowley's breath brush his wrist as the demon turned his head a little to look straight at him.  
"Don't. No need for that."  
"I know you hate it when I say it but it was…"  
"Don't say it."  
"Right."  
A moment of stillness settled in again, but the angel quickly pushed it away. When he spoke again, his tone was soft and hesitant, revealing layers of fragility he usually kept carefully hidden.  
"You know… after what happened in Saint James's Park, I thought… I… I was afraid we wouldn't…"  
Be friends, that was what he meant to say, but he couldn't. Not even that, not even if his feelings were so much deeper and stronger than that.  
"I thought you would break our arrangement," Aziraphale finished his sentence.  
Crowley shrugged.  
"Thought the same about you. But I knew you were in trouble. Couldn't let you get discorporated in such a stupid way. I mean… really, angel? Couldn't you see right through her game? She was the most obvious double-agent I have ever seen, and we've been meeting in Saint-James's Park for centuries."  
"I might have been a little too… hasty… in trusting her."  
"Naive. Bloody naive, that's what you were."  
"She seemed nice!"  
"She wasn't."  
"What were you even doing in the neighbourhood? How did you know I would be in trouble?"  
Crowley bit his tongue, looking for an answer. He couldn't blurt out that he could sense when Aziraphale was in trouble, right? That he had his own little alarm that went off in his head every time the angel was about to get himself into some deep trouble. And over six millennia, the alarm had never failed him.  
But it was not what the demon answered.  
"I have ears everywhere. Secret agents and all."  
"Really?" Aziraphale replied in a tone that meant I don't believe a single second in your bullshit.  
"I just knew, okay. And I came. And I helped. It's enough, don't you think?"  
The angel softened.  
"Yes, yes, it is more than enough."  
Aziraphale put the clothe away, and gently rested his palm against the cut. He focused, and miracled the wound to close itself. A moment later, Crowley was healed. He kept his palm against the demon's hair though, his fingers resting loosely on the burning strands, and both of them struggled to hide how their breaths had caught in their throats and how their hearts had stopped their beating.  
"Thank you, angel."  
Aziraphale took his hand away in a jolt, as if he had been burnt by the touch. He gave Crowley an uncomfortable smile.  
"Don't mention it. What are you going to do now? About the children, I mean." He decided to change the subject altogether as he pushed the bowl away and tried to forget how soft Crowley's hair had felt under his fingers.  
"Send them off in the countryside, keep them out of the cities. They'll be safer there."  
"I guess it's all we can do."  
"I heard you were pretty busy too, at the hospital."  
"I'm doing the best I can, which means not much. I can't interfere. Orders."  
"Me neither."  
They stared at each other for a moment, Crowley's snake-like eyes revealed, fragile, and he looked bare without his glasses, in a beautiful and almost tragic way. And Aziraphale still oozed tenderness and warmth despite the war raging outside, and Crowley was pulled towards him like a comet drawn out of its course by a sun.  
"Crowley, I was thinking… about that day, in the park…"  
"Let's put it behind us, angel. Shall we? Just… it's okay, I won't ask you for that again."  
The angel slowly nodded.  
"I can't let you get hurt…" he added, but Crowley interrupted him with a smile.  
"I know, angel. Different sides, and all that. But if it all depended on me, then we would still have our arrangement on. What do you say?"  
"I would love that."  
"Good. If you need anything then… you know where to find me."  
"The same goes for you, dear."  
They exchanged a smile.  
Despite the desolation outside, maybe there was still a little bit of sun to come after the storm, after all.  
"Actually, I thought… what if I came to help at the hospital?" Crowley offered. "Just… different yard. That could work."  
"Crowley…"  
"Ha… yes, of course. Too risky?"  
"Yes… yes, I think so."  
"Right… right…"  
But despite Aziraphale's refusal, Crowley could read other words the angel refrained and yet longed to let out. The two blue eyes screamed stay, please, stay.  
And Crowley's softening gaze answered with a silent I will, I always will.

\---------------------------------------------------------

You go too fast for me, Crowley.  
The demon was driving aimlessly through the streets of London. The night was pitch black, and another kind of shadow growing inside him seemed to cover the light of the lampposts too. He was crying.  
Too fast… too fast?! After six millennia? He had given the angel a lift home before, it was nothing so special, he just…  
He just wanted to spend some time with Aziraphale. Every waken minute, if he could, or even every minute no matter if he was lost to dreams or awake, but… even a demon could have dreams, right? He wasn't asking for so much though. Just… a ride to the bookshop. Maybe Aziraphale would have invited him inside, and they would have drunk one of the angel's best bottles of red wine, and talked about the years they had been apart and…  
Heaven and Hell and invisible barriers that kept them apart. He knew all about those. He knew how Aziraphale kept the boundary up. Maybe it was for the best, Crowley had to believe it was, at least.  
Maybe one day we could… go for a picnic. Dine at the Ritz…  
Did it mean that Aziraphale wanted that too? Wanted… more than the arrangement, but he was just too scared and too…  
Crowley already hated Heaven but now, his wrath reached whole new heights.  
You go too fast for me, Crowley.  
The demon's expression relaxed as it saddened. The anger, the confusion wore out, fading to let resilience course through his veins instead. He had waited six thousand years, he would wait six thousand more if needed. He would accept whatever Aziraphale was ready to give him, even if it was only friendship forever. It would already be more than enough.  
He didn't even realize his Bentley was slowing down as he drove through London's sleepy streets.  
He hadn't felt like he was pushing the angel forward. He hadn't felt like his invitation to drive him wherever he wanted to go was too much. But if Aziraphale had felt this way, then, he guessed he ought to slow down all the same. He had to be more careful.  
Go for a picnic. Dine at the Ritz…  
Oh… if only they could…

\----------------------------------------------------------------

"So, this is what you've been up to for these past few weeks!"  
Crowley was grinning, so proud of himself as cars kept on honking and angry drivers exchanged sweet names through the motionless traffic. They walked across Trafalgar Square and towards the National Gallery as Aziraphale was finishing his cheesecake.  
Turning off all the traffic lights in London had asked weeks of preparation, but it was worth the hard work. Crowley could feel the anger oozing from every single driver and pedestrian in the city. He was a genius…  
"Well, maybe the antichrist is planning the apocalypse right now, but nevertheless, I am still a demon, and I had to do some mischief, angel."  
"Of course," Aziraphale replied, a little annoyed. "Still… Crowley, look at the chaos around here!"  
"That was the point, angel. That was the whole point. Can't you feel how angry they are?"  
"Yes, dear. I can."  
"This planned worked so well!"  
"Except that you lost an hour stuck in the Bentley, and we had to walk here, as you had forgotten it was set for today…"  
Crowley merely glared at the angel by his side in response, who was wearing his smug face again. The bastard…  
Aziraphale threw away the empty box of his cheesecake before they walked inside the museum. They wondered for a while through the gallery, in silence for the most part, until they reached the impressionists section.  
Aziraphale had always thought it very strange that his and Crowley's favourite Monet had been put right next to each other, and that a bench had been added to the room right when the two paintings had been exposed there. He couldn't tell Crowley that he was suspecting one of his complicated schemes, of course. Nevertheless, he liked to believe it was Crowley's fault that the Water-lilies, setting sun and The water-lily pond had found themselves side by side, with a bench perfectly placed to admire both of the paintings.  
If he had asked, Crowley would have fiercely blushed, and denied it all, and he would have been a terrible liar.  
Aziraphale heaved a content sigh as he sat down on the bench that had miraculously been freed a couple of seconds before. The little crowd that had been watching the paintings dissolved, and the angel and the demon could admire Monet's game of colours in peace, between the vivid greens of the pond and the deep reds and purples of the sunset.  
"Anything new on your side then?" Aziraphale asked, glancing over at Crowley on his right.  
"Nothing so far. You?"  
"Not a word."  
"Warlock is doing okay."  
"Yes, I know. He got an A at his maths test, although he got a C+ in literature…"  
"Everyone can't be as passionate as you are about books, angel."  
"I guess not… still… a C, Crowley!"  
"Have you heard of that Kevin again?"  
"No, nothing. I surely hope not, the little tyrant…"  
"Good."  
"You've never told me how you 'handled' the situation though."  
"It's been dealt with."  
"Crowley… what have you done?"  
The demon rolled his eyes at the angel's worried tone.  
"Nothing harmful, of course. Who do you think I am, angel? I wouldn't hurt a child!"  
"I know, dear, that's not what I meant," Aziraphale defended himself. "Although, you can be… intimidating, sometimes."  
"Intimidating? Really?"  
"Yes. You are a demon, after all. Your little game with the traffic lights today proves it."  
"I merely talked to the child, that's all. And threatened to kill his dog if he ever bullied Warlock again."  
"Crowley!"  
"I'm kidding! I just talked to him. Relax, angel."  
They remained silent for a moment, Aziraphale wiggling a little next to Crowley in that swift, discontented movement that showed he was annoyed. It made the demon smile.  
The visitors who walked in the room didn't seem willing to disturb the two men who were observing the two Monet paintings at the centre of the room. None of them dared to walk between the bench and the artworks. Many who looked at the two men though wondered who they were to each other, and found them a little strange. The one before the pond all dressed in pastel colours and an old-looking white coat, his hair impossibly white. And sitting right next to him, before the sunset, a tall silhouette wrapped in black except for his red collar, hair of a vibrant red, long strands held back out of his face but still cascading to brush his shoulders. He was wearing dark sunglasses, which was without a doubt the strangest accessory to wear in an art gallery. They sat close to each other, and yet a few inches apart. Many wondered if they would finally reach out and hold hands…  
"His dad is away again," Crowley spoke after a while.  
"I know," Aziraphale heaved a sigh. "He's feeling lonelier again."  
"We could drop by. You know… as Brother Francis and Nanny Astoreth again. Still have the outfit."  
"I am not so sure that it would be good for him."  
"I think it would. He liked us."  
"When he was four."  
"He's eight. He's still little. And he's… lonely. It's a terrible feeling, loneliness."  
Aziraphale struggled to keep a neutral expression.  
"I know," he nodded. "There's nothing we can do though, Crowley. We should stay out of the way now. We've done our best."  
"We could be doing more."  
"And what could that be? We've tried to educate the child in both good and evil. Now, whether he leans towards the light or the dark depends on him, and him alone. We can only keep an eye on him now, and make sure he's fine."  
Crowley slowly nodded. There was nothing else to discuss concerning the antichrist, heaven, hell, God and Satan. Instead, the demon hoped to drive the conversation towards another topic, any topic, really, as long as it meant staying there, in front of the paintings, with Aziraphale.  
"I heard they were opening a new bakery down your street," he told Aziraphale, guessing that talking about food was always a fine way to keep the conversation going.  
"Yes! I can't wait for it to open, to be honest! Apparently, they will have a lot of French pastries! And now, although I agree that there is a lot you can say about the French, anyone has to admit that their pastries are scrumptious."  
"Indeed."  
"Are you still struggling with this orchid of yours?"  
"No, tamed the thing in the end. It's beautiful."  
"Crowley, really, the poor plants…"  
"I destroyed one of the plants who had a spot on a leaf a couple of days ago, taught them all a lesson."  
Aziraphale gave him a tender smile.  
"Now, where did you really put that plant, dear?"  
Crowley mumbled under his breath, before answering.  
"I planted it in Regent's Park."  
Aziraphale couldn't stifle a laugh.  
"Shut up!" Crowley protested.  
"You really are incredible, sometimes, dear."  
Crowley wanted to reply with a snarky remark, a clever answer, he wanted to be witty. But all he could do was to try to stop the blush from rising to his cheeks and slow down his heart.  
He was very well aware of how close to his Aziraphale's fingers rested on the wooden bench. Just a few millimetres away. It felt like six thousand years though…  
And Aziraphale was perfectly aware that a tiny movement towards the demon would have closed the distance between their fingers, he knew it was nothing, just a few millimetres. And yet, it was a distance impossible to cross.  
Their fingers thus remained there, resting on the bench, so close, within reach, and yet apart.  
"Angel?"  
"Yes, dear?"  
"I really like these paintings, don't you?"  
The angel's throat tightened, and he held back the tears that suddenly formed in his eyes. He recognized the hidden meaning in these words. They truly meant stay, please, stay a little longer.  
"Yes… Yes, I like them quite a lot as well," he answered with a nod, his voice a little deeper than usual, a little unsteady too.  
Crowley smiled. The words sounded like something more, they sounded like a Yes, I will stay, for now.  
And for now, it had to be enough.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The world was still there. Fragile, flawed, and yet still there. Still beautiful in its own imperfect way. Still full of hope despite being stained with despair. Still loving despite all the hate spreading through its cracks.  
The world had not ended, after all. It was still there, spinning around the sun at 1,037 miles per hour. Atlantis was gone, and the bookshop was back, and the Bentley was all but burnt. Aziraphale and Crowley didn't know all that yet though. All they knew was that the Earth was still there, spinning, getting hotter and hotter by the second, coughing in carbon dioxide and other pollutants, filled with leaves stretching towards the moon and fireflies buzzing through stony lanes and buildings.  
They had taken a bus out of Tadfield and back to London. For now, they thought the bookshop, just like the Bentley, were gone. And maybe they still were for now, maybe Adam would need the night to put things back the way they were before Armageddon.  
They were in Crowley's apartment, the only safe place left. None of them doubted that Heaven and Hell would come for them in the morning. Moreover, Agnes's prophecy was adamant in stating that they were not out of trouble yet. They didn't doubt that they had until dawn though.  
Crowley had forgotten about the pool of water and blood and fused bones that Ligur had become when he fell into Crowley's trap, and both he and Aziraphale froze at the sight.  
"Ha, yes… that's…"  
"Is it Ligur?" Aziraphale asked with disgust painted all over his features.  
"What's left of him," Crowley nodded. "Hang on, I must have a mop somewhere…"  
"Don't be ridiculous! Stay here!" the angel stopped him as Crowley was taking a step towards the putrid pool. "Who knows if the holy water could still be effective! Stay here, I'll do it."  
"It's okay, angel."  
"Crowley!"  
"Alright, alright…"  
Aziraphale only had to miracle Ligur's remains away, and it was all safe for Crowley to walk into his office again.  
"Thank you, angel."  
"You're welcome. Where is that book then?"  
"In my bedroom, on the left."  
They walked through the flat, Aziraphale grinning at the sight of Crowley's plants, to the demon's bedroom.  
Just like the rest of the flat, it was simple and decorated with taste, although Aziraphale found it a little bare. Crowley reached for a book hidden under his bedside table and sat down on his bed, soon joined by Aziraphale.  
"So, the prediction talked about choosing faces… You're sure?" Crowley asked, but the angel nodded with confidence.  
"I remember something about that… in here…"  
"I didn't know you were interested in old magic."  
"Rituals and runes can come in handy once in a while."  
Aziraphale hummed in agreement while Crowley frantically turned the pages of the book, a little too frantically to the angel's taste, actually. The poor book…  
"Ha! Here! Knew it!"  
He showed Aziraphale the page of the ritual he had remembered… that would allow them to exchange their faces.  
"So… we could use it for me to look like you and you to look like me, right?" Aziraphale asked, quickly studying the ritual.  
"I think so, yes. Do you think it's what Agnes meant?"  
"Quite literally, yes. Then, I could get down to Hell, and you can take my place in Heaven."  
But Crowley snatched the book out of Aziraphale's hands, shaking his head.  
"We can't do that, angel. There must be another way, it's too dangerous."  
"There's no other way, Crowley. They will come for us. We can't hide forever."  
"Why not?"  
"Don't talk about Alpha Centauri again."  
"We could run away, Aziraphale."  
But the angel shook his head, although his expression both saddened and softened, a touch of melancholy colouring his eyes.  
"We can't run away forever, Crowley. I can't…"  
"It's too dangerous!"  
"No. No, it's time… it's time to get free of them."  
Crowley's mouth slightly opened, agape, as he stared at Aziraphale with both confusion and hope oozing from his entire frame.  
"Can you… can you take off your glasses, please?" the angel asked out of the blue.  
"Why?"  
"Because this conversation is important, and I want to be looking at you while we're having it."  
Crowley swallowed, but obeyed, taking off his glasses and putting them down onto his bedside table, before turning towards Aziraphale again.  
Crowley always felt naked without his sunglasses, fragile, it was like taking off his entire armour and revealing his very soul. But it was Aziraphale looking back at him, and if there was one person in the entire universe Crowley believed in, without any doubt, without any hesitation, it was him. If there was anyone the demon would trust his soul and heart with, it was Aziraphale.  
"Crowley I… I know we've… I have always been cautious and I know sometimes I've made sure to… keep you at arm's length. I just… I'm just so scared of what Hell could do to you. It could have been you, Crowley, that disgusting soup on your floor! It could have been you instead of Ligur!"  
"But it wasn't."  
"It could have been. And now, they know, Crowley. They know about us, they know what we are to each other, and nor Heaven nor Hell is going to stop until they have found us and punished us for what we've done about Armageddon, but also for what we mean to each other."  
Crowley narrowed his eyes a little, before blowing through his nose an annoyed breath.  
"And what could that be? Fraternizing still?"  
"Oh, you can't be serious, right now!" Aziraphale shot back with a glare. "Are you really bringing Saint James's Park back?"  
"I don't know. You were fraternizing with me then. Like we were mere acquaintances!"  
"That's not what I meant, and you know it."  
"I don't know it, angel! Unlike you, I don't have a super power allowing me to detect what people feel, okay? I don't work like that. I can't know if you don't tell me!"  
"You're my best friend, Crowley!"  
The demon froze.  
"For God's sake!" Aziraphale went on with anger. "Of course, you are, you are my only friend, you have been since… since forever, really. Don't tell me it's not…"  
His voice died out.  
"Anyway," he calmed down, looking away from Crowley's neutral expression. "We are on our own side now, as you said. And we need to break free from them. Both Heaven and Hell. It's our only way to get out of it alive and free, it's now or never, Crowley. And I… I trust you. More than anyone, more than myself. I know you will come back. I am… terrified at the idea of sending you up there, but it's the only way we'll both get out of this alive. We need to trust each other on this. And I do trust you, with my life, but most importantly, with yours. And you need to trust me too."  
Aziraphale was looking down at his feet, conscious of Crowley's stare set upon him, but unable to hold it.  
They remained wrapped in silence for a moment, while Crowley's eyes drifted from the angel's face to the side of his arm, and finally, to his hand resting on the mattress. Perfectly manicured, as always, his golden ring wrapped around his pinky finger, as always.  
He had longed to reach out and take his hand for six thousand years. The only temptation he had thought he would never been able to bend to.  
But then, Aziraphale had taken his hand in the bus from Tadfield. Maybe it was simply the shock of it all. Maybe he simply needed support from a friend. Or maybe…  
Maybe it was a step towards more than they had ever had. A step towards more than maybe, perhaps, one day, almost…  
He took a deep breath, and dived, reaching across the mattress to close the space between their fingers, merely a few inches, but these inches were much more than inches right now. They were six thousand years of reaching but never touching, and thousands questions unasked out of fear, of banned affection and forbidden friendship, and fear, oh, so much fear for such a long time. And through all that, it was also all these times where they had reached and almost touched, almost given up, almost thrown cautious to the wind and leaned into their feelings.  
It was an impossibly great distance to cross, a distance he had not crossed in six thousand years, but he was crossing it now.  
Aziraphale's skin was soft, warm, reassuring, the most reassuring sensation he had ever experienced. Suddenly, he didn't feel alone anymore. He felt like he belonged, right there, by Aziraphale's side, holding his hand. Yes, yes… in this great ineffable plan, that was exactly where Crowley was meant to be: holding Aziraphale's hand.  
The angel intertwined their fingers together and finally looked up at Crowley, who greeted him with a tender smile.  
"I do trust you, angel. More than I trust myself. I'm just… I'm just scared something could go sour, and I wouldn't be able to reach you on time…"  
"It's the only way, Crowley. And I… we need to break free now."  
The demon slowly nodded.  
"I think you're right."  
"It's the only way."  
"I know."  
"We should try it. See if it works."  
"But before we do it, you have to promise me something, Aziraphale."  
"What is it?"  
Crowley's eyes became more intense, with a touch of desperation too, and the angel couldn't fail to notice that the white that usually encircled his irises had disappeared, revealing their true appearance.  
And God almighty, how beautiful his eyes were… Aziraphale had always loved them beyond measure…  
"Promise me, this time, that you'll still be here in the morning."  
Crowley's eyes drowned in tears he had been holding back for six thousand years, his heart swelled with feelings he had been refraining ever since that moment on the walls of Eden, and he was fragile and raw and beautiful as Aziraphale stared at him with all his layers of armours willingly stripped away from him. For so long now he had been asking that question, and for so long Aziraphale had never dared to answer.  
But for now, Aziraphale couldn’t speak. Because he could recognize that feeling Crowley had been hiding for so long, he could see it so clearly in the tears running down his cheeks, in the glint in his amber eyes, in the tremor of his parted lips. And he wanted to tell him that he felt this way too… he wanted to tell him all these words he had longed to confess for years, but hadn't dared to, too afraid of being heard, of putting Crowley in danger. If only he could truly speak his mind, he would have wrapped his arms around Crowley and spoke words he had longed to let out ever since that night in the church in 1941, as the dust settled down and he was standing there in the ruins and flames with Crowley and he finally put words on the way he had been feeling for millennia.  
I love you. I've always loved. It has taken me so long to finally realize it was true love, but it's been all along. It's always been you, it will always be. I love you, so passionately, so absolutely. I've never cared that you were a demon, I was just so afraid of what Hell could do to you if they knew how I felt for you. I should have run away with you when you asked me to. We could have gone to Alpha Centauri, and live in the stars you've built, and it would have been enough. But now, it's the opportunity to build a side of our own. Crowley, we could build a side where it wouldn't be wrong for me to love you, and for you to love me back. Darling, please, I love you. I would do anything for you. Please, please, stay into my life. I will be here in the morning, if you let me. Please, stay, stay… Crowley, please, stay. Stay forever.  
He couldn’t say all that, not now… they weren't fully free yet, but… Heaven and Hell were not looking for them just yet. They would in the morning, dawn would bring their wrath. But for now, it was still night time. Now, the sky was still as dark as ink, still stained with shining lights, and fireflies still flew in ruins of a roman forum far away, and stars were so bright, and it was just the two of them, and no one was looking… And if Aziraphale couldn’t confess everything, he could make a promise.  
Crowley was not expecting Aziraphale to wrap his arms around him, and yet he was fast at reciprocating the gesture. They held each other tightly, both of them trembling, both of them crying, both of them feeling safer than they had ever felt. And suddenly, Aziraphale didn't feel alone anymore. He felt like he belonged, right there, wrapped in Crowley's embrace. Yes, yes… in this great ineffable plan, that was exactly where Aziraphale was meant to be: in Crowley's arms.  
When the angel finally answered, his voice was made hoarse by overwhelming emotions and tears he couldn't fight against.  
"I will be here, Crowley. I promise. I will be here in the morning. I will. I will…"  
Crowley's hands turned into fists, he buried his face in the crook of the angel's neck, holding on Aziraphale's coat as if his life depended it on it… because it did. He let out a shaky breath.  
"You know… when I entered the bookshop, and you weren't there, I thought… I thought…"  
"I know, Crowley. I'm sorry. I was discorporated, for my defence."  
"I thought I would never see you again," Crowley went on, crying, the tears falling unrestrained like the first raindrops on Eden. "Angel, I can't… I can't lose you, I…"  
"You won't. I won't lose you either. It won't happen, because we'll be prepared, and when they come for us, we'll show them that they have to let us go."  
"I thought you were gone… I can't live through that again. I can't…"  
"You won't have to. And I won't let any of them hurt you either. We'll be fine. Crowley, I promise. It could be over tomorrow, we could finally be free."  
"And then? What will happen then?"  
Aziraphale struggled to get the words out, but he did, his heart still in his chest and his lungs unable to let any air out, and yet he did speak.  
"Then we can build our own side."  
Crowley pulled away, staring at Aziraphale, staring at these blue eyes he dreamt of more often than not, searching for any trace of hesitation, of fear, but he found none. He only found determination. And it was all he needed to see.  
He slowly nodded, before drying his face on his sleeve, standing and putting on his sunglasses again.  
"Right. For the ritual, what do we need, angel?"  
Aziraphale smiled, before turning to the book again.  
It was now or never, it was their only chance, and they were determined to make it count.

\----------------------------------------------------------

Crowley's laugh was so bright, Aziraphale reckoned it could have blinded the sun itself these days.  
A couple of weeks had passed since the apocalypse-that-wasn't and Crowley and Aziraphale were free. It hadn't been easy, it had been dangerous, but their plan of changing their faces had worked. Heaven and Hell would let them be from now on. And it was all that mattered.  
They had seen each other every day ever since.  
Going to Saint James's Park for a walk, eating a picnic in Regent's Park, spending hours in the National Gallery, visiting the British Museum, watching a play at the Globe… every day there was an activity to do, and every day, they didn't have to be careful anymore.  
It was hard to lose the habit of looking over their shoulders, but they were both making progress. Their laughs were brighter, louder. They held hands in the park. They drank too much at restaurants. Crowley wasn't afraid to be seen driving Aziraphale back to the bookshop…  
They were free, breathing in this new joy they had earned, and they were happier than ever. An impossible weight had been taken off of their shoulders and freed their bent frames. They stood straighter, they smiled, they laughed, they lived.  
Words spoken decades before in the Bentley in Soho still echoed in Crowley's mind though, and thus he was wary, trying to slow down, let Aziraphale make the first steps.  
One careful step at a time, so he wouldn't be going too fast.  
And it worked, it seemed. The angel sat closer to him on their bench in Saint James's Park, he held his hand or arm as they walked their way through the National Gallery, and he smiled… he smiled so brightly and so earnestly and so sweetly… A little bit like he used to smile in Rome, such a long time ago, when the weight of Heaven and Hell weren't so heavy on their shoulders, when they still spent their time together, before they got too scared.  
That was the change, really. Aziraphale didn't seem afraid at all anymore. He was his happy, enthusiastic, witty, brilliant self, and no trace of fear came to taint his bright blue eyes.  
And Crowley was the same. He even took off his sunglasses whenever he and Aziraphale were alone now. His smile was more earnest than before, brighter. He laughed more and louder. And there was something more tender about his demeanour in general, the angel couldn't really describe it, it was just… in the way he moved, and looked at him, and smiled, and drank his wine. It was something impossible to describe but it was soft and tender, and Aziraphale adored it.  
Crowley was entering the bookshop again, with a bag of Chinese food in his hand and a good bottle of red wine. It was lunchtime on a Monday in Soho, and the streets were busy, as always. The heat of summer was still clenching to the air of London, the clear blue sky immaculate of any clouds.  
It was a very nice day, and Crowley hoped as he entered the bookshop that they would take a walk outside. It had been a while since they had walked through Kensington Gardens and Hyde Park…  
"Angel! I've got lunch! Went to that Chinese you like so much in Mayfair," he called, magically locking the door behind him.  
But there was no answer, and he frowned hard. The bookshop was calm, ordered as always, no sign of disruption. And yet, he was met with nothing but silence.  
"Aziraphale?" he called again, louder this time, stepping further inside the bookshop.  
Again, no response, only silence and the distant buzzing noise of the busy street.  
And for the first time in over two weeks, Crowley was afraid.  
A thousand possibilities passed through his mind of terrible things that could have happened to Aziraphale. And yet… yet he couldn't feel that the angel was in trouble, and in six thousand years of careful watch, he had never failed to detect when Aziraphale was in danger. So what was going on?  
"Aziraphale!" he called once more.  
"Crowley? Huh… I'm upstairs," the angel finally answered, and Crowley couldn't refrain a relieved sigh.  
He climbed up the stairs without hesitation and was already upstairs when Aziraphale called for him again.  
"I'm afraid I didn't see the time, dear. I'm not quite ready. Give me a min…"  
But then Crowley was stepping in the room, and froze.  
Aziraphale was sitting on the ground, wearing a large white t-shirt and the trousers of his tartan pyjamas, his long, white wings stretched across the room. His hair was a mess of white locks, he fiercely blushed at the sight of the demon.  
Crowley couldn't breathe. He was beautiful…  
"Oh…" he let out as Crowley was still standing in the doorway.  
From the window above the beech desk and chair, a ray of sunlight came in the room to kiss Aziraphale's white feathers. Brushes were splayed on the ground around him, and Crowley guessed he had been grooming his wings. On the right, a small kitchen used mostly to prepare cocoa and tea stretched towards a bathroom. A bed in white sheets Aziraphale barely used was set at the back of the large room. There were books in that room too, of course.  
"I'm… I'm sorry, my dear, I… I didn't notice how time was flying by."  
It was Crowley's time to fiercely blush as he noticed that he had been gawking at the angel.  
"Ha, no problem. Do you want me to come back in a couple of hours?"  
"No, I mean. I'll finish up later, I just need… ten minutes, to get ready."  
"You should finish up, I mean… when was the last time you groomed them, angel?" Crowley asked in a half-teasing tone as he took a closer look at the feathers, that in some places seemed quite messy."  
"A few centuries," Aziraphale admitted. "I've always had trouble with grooming them."  
A crazy question passed through Crowley's mind, and he tried… oh he tried so hard to push it away, but failed, and instead, before he could bite his tongue and hold back the words, he was speaking the question out loud.  
"Do you want some help? With the grooming, I mean?"  
They stared at each for a still moment. Both of them motionless in the room, their hearts the only thing moving in what seemed to be the entire world, and what an erratic movement it was.  
Idiot was the only word Crowley could think of to describe himself at that moment.  
But instead of pushing him away, Aziraphale shyly smiled.  
"Well… would you mind?"  
Crowley arched an eyebrow in surprise and shook his head.  
"No, of course not, angel."  
"Well… then… I guess, yes… If you don't mind, that is."  
Crowley nodded, a little shaken, a little shocked, before stepping into the room properly. He went to put their meal on the table in the kitchen before taking off his glasses and putting them in his jacket. He went back to Aziraphale and sat behind him.  
"I've done the left one, but… not the right," the angel spoke in a quiet voice.  
"Yeah, I can see that. You've got to take better care of your wings, angel," Crowley replied with a frown at the sight of the messy feathers.  
"Yes… well… nobody's perfect."  
Crowley rolled his eyes.  
"I didn't mean that. They're still…"  
His voice broke and he looked for the right word to say, but they were all too strong… graceful, perfect, gorgeous…  
"… alright."  
Crowley mentally slapped himself.  
"Oh… well…" Aziraphale breathed, moving a little away.  
"No, no, that's not what I meant… your wings are lovely, angel…"  
Crowley closed his eyes, now utterly flustered.  
"Ngk…" was all he could find next to say as he buried his face in his hands.  
And Aziraphale laughed at him, blushing too.  
"Why don't you help me with the grooming, my dear?"  
"Yes, yes, good idea," Crowley nodded and reached for a brush, but then thought better of it.  
He approached his fingers of the angel's white wings, slowly, crossing inches after inches, his heart beating so fast he was tempted to stop it altogether to finally silence the sound that drummed in his ears…  
And he ran his fingers in Aziraphale's long feathers.  
They both shivered.  
Crowley had to take a minute to breathe, before he could run his fingers through the soft feathers again.  
He tidied them back where they belonged, untangling them and pushing them back softly into place. Slowly, carefully, aware that he was touching something more fragile and delicate than crystal. Something infinitely more beautiful and precious too…  
Aziraphale's head was spinning. After a couple of minutes, he closed his eyes, relaxing into the gentle touch, and feeling more at peace than he could ever remember being. It was so simple and yet so intimate, touching an angel's feathers, like… like running fingers through someone's hair, or kissing their pulse, or pecking their temple, intertwining trembling fingers, brushing their cheek, tracing up their spine, resting a hand on their back right where their wings should be to comfort them and tracing circles there…  
The delicate sound of feathers brushing against each others and the heavy breaths of both the angel and the demon were the only sounds filling up the warm room. The moment called for it, somehow. It was suspended in time, too precious and too vulnerable to be disturbed by words. It felt like the Earth had stopped spinning, and time frozen. But the Earth was still spinning, for the rest of the world, simply not for the demon and the angel in this bookshop in Soho…  
But Crowley did break the silence. Because that moment of intimacy reminded him of another instant made of the same trembling essence, a wing stretching to protect him from the first raindrops, on the walls of Eden…  
…and later on, a night in Rome, stargazing under the cypresses, surrounded by fireflies in the forum.  
But Crowley had never learnt why after that night in Rome, things had changed, and he needed to get an answer, now.  
"Angel, can I ask you something?"  
The feathers slipped between his fingers perfectly, and he reckoned that they could only fit his hands so well because he was meant to touch them so.  
"Of course, dear. What is it?" Aziraphale asked, opening his eyes again.  
"That night in Rome. Do you remember? In the forum, we were stargazing. It was a long time ago..."  
"Of course, I remember, you told me you had created stars. You told me about your fall."  
"Yes, that night… Angel, I've been wondering… for all these years, I've wanted to know… What did I do wrong that night?"  
Aziraphale frowned hard, turning a little to look at Crowley, who kept his eyes on his task at hand instead of looking back at the angel.  
"What do you mean? Nothing, you did nothing wrong. It was a lovely evening."  
"You… you changed after that night," Crowley answered in a hesitant tone. "We weren't so close after that night, and I've always supposed it was because I had messed something up. Was it because I told you about falling?"  
"Oh, Crowley, of course not!" Aziraphale turned completely towards the demon, freeing his wing from his friend's delicate grasp. "Of course not, I… I know it took a lot from you to open up to me this way, and I… no, you didn't do anything wrong. But I know… I know what you mean by that, but it wasn't because of you, and most definitely not because we talked about your fall."  
"Why then? Why did you push me away?"  
"Now, pushing away is a bit too much to describe…"  
But Crowley gave him a pointy look that immediately shushed the angel.  
"Yes… yes, I reckon I did," he was forced to admit.  
"But why?"  
"Because of… Because Gabriel came to see me. The next morning," Aziraphale explained in a sheepish voice. "He was looking for you."  
"For me?!"  
"I mean, not for you you, but for the demon staying on Earth. He knew you were somewhere in Rome, and he wanted me to find you, so I…"  
"So you ran away to make sure he wouldn't know where I was."  
Aziraphale nodded.  
"I should have told you."  
"Yes, you should have!" Crowley replied angrily. "I thought I was the problem."  
"I got scared…"  
"And stupid!"  
"Crowley, if Gabriel had learnt we talked to each other on an almost daily basis, he would have told Beelzebub, and you would have died! And not just been discorporated, you would have been gone for good! I couldn't… I couldn't take the risk."  
Crowley calmed down a little at the angel's words, but it didn't mean he agreed.  
"You should have told me anyway."  
"You're reckless, Crowley. You would have brushed it off as if it was a mere inconvenience. Don't deny it. And I couldn't let you take that risk."  
Crowley remained silent. He wished he could deny it all, but the truth was, Aziraphale was most probably right.  
"I thought it was… better to keep our distances after that. Or at least, not see each other so much."  
Crowley slowly nodded, looking down at his hands, resting numbly on his knees.  
"Besides… it was a long time ago, Crowley."  
"Yes, well… it lasted for millennia, sorry to be a little touchy about it."  
"What would you have done if Beelzebub had turned up looking for me?"  
"I don't know. But not simply…"  
"Now, don't lie, dear."  
Crowley bit his tongue.  
"But we were friends, right?" the demon asked in a whisper. "We were still friends all these years?"  
"Yes. Of course, we were."  
"Are we friends now?"  
Aziraphale held his breath.  
"Well, yes… aren't we?"  
Crowley nodded, and gave the angel a smile he hoped to be warm, but turned out sad.  
"Right. I just wondered why, but now that I have my answer, I can get back to work on your wing."  
"What else could we be, Crowley?"  
"It was a silly question, angel. Come on, I'll finish grooming your wing."  
"Crowley, look at me."  
Aziraphale was wearing that tone… soft, almost begging, and Crowley could not fight this voice of his. He looked up as the angel was moving a little closer to him, positioning himself right in front of the demon.  
"What else could we be, Crowley?" he asked again, his voice a shaking breath and his eyes glimmering with something soft and bright that looked a lot like hope.  
Crowley could feel himself blushing, he could literally feel his cheeks turning crimson, but there was nothing he could do about it.  
He mumbled an incoherent answer under his breath and made a movement to stand, but Aziraphale stopped him by taking his hand in his. And for a moment, they merely stared at each other. Aziraphale didn't need to ask his question again, it was written all over his features.  
And Crowley wished he could find something clever to say, deny it all, answer with a relaxed and casual line. But he couldn't, because Aziraphale was staring at him with these blue eyes he couldn't lie to, and he wanted to say it all again, like that day after their row in Saint James's Park, when he had come before the bookshop. The same urge rose inside of him to shout out the words he had been holding back for six thousand years. Ever since that first rain on the world. Ever since this idiot of an angel had admitted that he had given up his sword to protect humans. Ever since he had talked with Crowley with kindness and protected him from the rain. Ever since the beginning…  
And this time, he couldn't simply turn around and walk away. This time, he just had to let it go.  
You go too fast for me, Crowley. The words spun through his mind, twirling like a whirlwind and they hurt, they hurt so much, but for once, he threw them to the wind. Because everything had changed now.  
Now, they were free. And they were friends. And Aziraphale took his hand in parks, and smiled and laughed so much more than before, and he had let him touch his wings, and anyway, anyway… anyway… it was killing him from the inside to remain silent and he couldn't take it anymore, it had to be let out, it had to be said, it had be let go of, he couldn’t do it anymore, he couldn’t, he couldn't…  
He clenched his jaw for a second, before softening again, and there were tears in his eyes when Crowley spoke, and his voice was just a shaking, breathy whisper, but it wasn't important. The words were out.  
"Don't you know? After all this time… Aziraphale, don't you know?"  
A single tear rolled down the angel's cheek as he remained sitting there, breathless.  
"Well… I hoped…" he whispered with a shy smile. "Never truly believed you would… though…"  
"You hoped?"  
"Well I… I didn't think you…"  
"But you don't, right? I've never expected you to. I'm a demon after all."  
Aziraphale's expression softened to grow tender, impossibly tender and… and…  
… loving.  
"Oh, Crowley. After all this time, don't you know?"  
But Crowley frowned, although tears also formed in his eyes.  
"When?"  
"I can't tell you when it started. It was… oh, I've felt like this for a long while. I think… I don't know, Alexandria? Or maybe Rome? I am not sure, it was… it was like slipping into a welcomed habit, you know? Progressive, safe, certain…"  
He let out a chuckle.  
"Ineffable."  
They both laughed as tears escaped their eyes.  
"I realized later on, though, so much later… I'm sorry, I was so slow. But I was so scared, Crowley, of what they could do to you, I couldn't… I couldn't let myself acknowledge how I felt until it was way too much even for me to deny…"  
"When was that?"  
"In the church, during the Blitz. You saved me. And then you saved my books."  
Crowley snickered.  
"I knew bribing you with books was a good idea."  
They let out a laugh.  
"When was it, for you?" Aziraphale asked softly, reaching for both of Crowley's hands and entwining their fingers together.  
Crowley gave him a soft smile.  
"Eden. You idiot giving up your sword, were you serious, angel? You… you protected me from the rain."  
"Really? For so long?"  
Crowley merely shrugged in response, while Aziraphale was raising his hand to cup the demon's face in the softest, most tender gesture. And Crowley couldn’t stop himself from leaning into the touch.  
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I wasn't ready. I was too scared, but I'm not anymore. I'm not afraid anymore, dearest."  
Crowley's entire frame shook at the pet name. His brain had frozen, as if the reality of it all was suddenly sinking in and hitting him right in the guts, worse than a punch.  
He couldn’t think, and maybe it was why he wasn't afraid of being too fast now, and why he simply leaned down, and kissed Aziraphale.  
Soft lips against his that tasted like honey and tea, like six thousand years of maybe, perhaps, one day, almost, like heartbreaks, and laughter, and hope, and despair, and fear, and a shadow following them everywhere suddenly disappearing, like a veil lifting…  
It felt like the first raindrops falling on Eden, a white wing stretching to cover a demon, like wine drank after a devasting flood, like watching the death of millions hand in hand, like scrolls saved from a fire, like stargazing under cypresses, like a hand resting where his wings should have been, like offering a flawed first edition of the printed bible, like long nights alone and dinners together that always seemed to end too fast, like carrying a child out of a dead home, like watching cities burn and be rebuilt, like sweet rain falling on a salty ocean, like morning dew on the petals of wild flowers, like crêpes eaten during a revolution, like missing a part of themselves for years, like looking for a ghost through muddy faces, like burying people who had died too young, like watching fireworks, like driving too fast through London, like a bomb falling onto a church during the Blitz, like a thermos covered with tartan, like going too fast, like longing, like waiting, like reaching, like touching and grabbing, and the end of the world that didn't end but ended still in another way, like being reborn, like Saint James's park suddenly caught by a summer storm, like the rain on a picnic in Regent's Park, like sunlight through the bookshop, like Monet's paintings and a bench to stare at them for hours, like two hands reaching for six millennia and suddenly brushing fingertips together…  
It felt like six thousand years compressed into one moment, and then it was over. Crowley pulled away, out of breath, out of thoughts, certain to be discorporated, and yet still with a beating heart. He stared at Aziraphale through heavy eyelids, waiting for the angel to look up at him to ask in a fragile whisper the only question worth asking now.  
"Too fast, angel?"  
But Aziraphale's response was to hold Crowley's face in both his hands and crush their lips together, and this time, it lasted way longer… and it was perfect, their two souls mingling and it seemed that they became one and only came apart again when their lips parted. They were exactly where they were meant to be. They were home.  
Crowley ran his fingers through Aziraphale's curls, making the angel sigh as he wrapped his arms around the demon.  
"Crowley, can you…?"  
He stopped.  
"What is it, angel?"  
Another silence, before Aziraphale would dare to ask for what he had wanted for centuries.  
"Can I… Can I see your wings again? Please?"  
Crowley arched an eyebrow.  
"My wings?"  
"Please."  
But Crowley couldn't refuse Aziraphale anything, and certainly not after their first kiss. So he unfolded his long wings, as black as the sky in a moonless night, elegant, beautiful…  
The tip of their wings stretched towards each other until they touched, making them both shudder.  
"They're beautiful."  
"Angel…" Crowley blushed.  
There were a thousand words to be spoken, and a hundred confessions to be made, but it could all wait. For now, Aziraphale had only one thing left to say.  
"I love you, Crowley. I love you so much."  
A tear rolled down Crowley's face, but he didn't even notice it.  
"I love you too, angel. I've always loved you, I always will."  
Their lips were sealed again, for a long, long while, and their wings folded up around them, as to protect them from the outside world, black and white feathers turned into shields. In the kitchen, the Chinese food grew cold, and outside the sun continued its race across the sky, and strangers hurried through the streets of Soho drenched in heat and sunlight, but it didn't matter at all, not for the couple that had just been born in this bookshop. These four wings wrapped around a demon and an angel kissing were all that was left in their world for a long time…

\-------------------------------------------------------------------

"So… this happened."  
Crowley turned to look at Aziraphale on his left, his head resting on the pillow beside his. A little bit of sweat still glimmered on his forehead in the soft light of his bedside table, his blond curls made a mess by Crowley's fingers, lips reddened by kisses, his cheeks flushed, and a large grin across his face. He was so gorgeous…  
"Yes… yes, it did happen," Aziraphale nodded.  
"It was… it was amazing, to be honest."  
"Yes, yes it was."  
"Humans really have some cool advantages comparing to ethereal bodies and occult forms."  
"Definitely."  
They were lying side by side, but not touching anymore, except for their hands, their fingers still entwined between them. They both struggled to find back a normal rhythm for their breaths, partially because of what they had been doing just a moment before, but also because the realization that they had just done it was slowly sinking in. And it was overwhelming. Crowley pinched his thigh, but felt the pain. No, still not discorporated…  
Aziraphale started to snicker, then giggle, then straight up laugh, and Crowley looked at him with questioning eyes and arched eyebrows.  
"Can you imagine… can you…" Aziraphale stuttered, struggling to speak as he doubled with laughter. "Can you imagine Gabriel's face if he could see us now?"  
And Crowley exploded with laughter too.  
"Or Hastur! Oh that old toad would explode!"  
They kept on laughing for several minutes, so much that happy tears glimmered at the corner of their eyes and their stomach ached, and they rolled in the bed, but their hands never came apart.  
When they finally calmed down, they were lying on their sides, facing each other. They stared at each other as they calmed down, breathing more deeply. Aziraphale reached out to push a loose strand away from Crowley's perfect eyes, and his fingers lingered on the demon's cheek, his thumb gently brushing the sharp cheekbone. He was so beautiful…  
"Can I confess something?"  
"Of course, darling. What is it?"  
Crowley rolled his eyes but couldn't hide that he was blushing.  
"These pet names, angel, I swear…"  
"Well, why couldn't I call you 'darling'?"  
"It's just… ngk… argh!"  
"It's not cheesy or anything, it's normal for me to call you that. And you call me 'angel' all the time!"  
"It's… I've been calling you that for centuries! Millennia, even!"  
"Well, you've told me yourself that you've fallen in love with me within the first five minutes after we've met, so… it was a pet name all along, dearest."  
Crowley tried to glower at Aziraphale, but he couldn't argue. After all, the angel was right. And he knew it. There is was, the smug smile, the little smirk.  
Bastard…  
"It's cheesy, angel."  
"It's not cheesy! I love you, it's normal to give you tender names."  
Crowley mumbled a string of meaningless words as an answer, making Aziraphale giggle, and the angel kissed his nose to shush him.  
"You had a confession to make, darling."  
Crowley glared at Aziraphale, but didn't reply to the provocation.  
"Yes… I… It's just… I've always thought angels were against sex."  
Aziraphale gave him a smile full of mischief.  
"On our side, they aren't."  
Crowley grinned, touched more than he meant to be by the angel's answer.  
"Right… it explains it then."  
"I think it does."  
Aziraphale slowly moved closer to the demon he loved, hesitant, not knowing yet how to be so close to Crowley but dying to learn, until he could hold the demon in his arms and rest his head on Crowley's bare shoulder.  
Crowley grinned.  
"Is it un-demonic to cuddle?" Aziraphale asked, and Crowley's grin widened even more.  
"Maybe. But not on our side."  
It was Aziraphale's turn to feel his heart expand with too much love and tenderness to be contained.  
"Oh, I see. Good. Because, I think I like it."  
"I think I like it too," Crowley nodded, dropping a couple of sweet kisses in Aziraphale's hair.  
He traced meaningless patterns on the small of Aziraphale's back while the angel's breath brushed and tickles the skin of his neck. With his free hand, he took Aziraphale's, playing absentmindedly with his fingers, resting palm against palm and brushing fingers and knuckles and thumbs against each other…  
For how long had Crowley been dreaming about this? Hoping about this? A crazy, unreachable fantasy he kept deeply buried in his heart for so long… And yet, now, it had happened, it was happening… Aziraphale resting in his arms, kissing his shoulder from time to time, his scent all over him, his taste on his lips, their heartbeat pounding in unison, their breaths matching in rhythm. It was what it felt like to be Aziraphale's, and for Aziraphale to be Crowley's. It was what it felt like to be infinitely loved.  
Crowley smiled without noticing it.  
So… that was what it felt like to be truly happy…

\------------------------------------------------------------------

Rome in autumn truly was a sight to behold. Old ruins tainted by bleeding sunsets matching the colours of falling leaves, scarves of all shades and forms wrapped around couples walking hand in hand, oranges and lemons on every market, the Tiber more stubborn than usual.  
Night had fallen onto the city, and the lampposts despite their best efforts could not compare to the beauty of the lights hung up to the firmament. The moon was made of silver, bright and large and all round tonight although partially hidden by heavy clouds. The city was still busy at night, but Aziraphale and Crowley were looking for a little bit of quiet today. They walked alongside the ruins of the Coliseum, but didn't stop to admire it. Instead, they walked on, hand in hand, until they reached what remained of the ancient forum.  
Crowley miracled the chains to open and let them in unnoticed. Of course, by now, there were no buildings left, and merely ruins of the place they had visited centuries before together. The last time they had entered the forum together was that night they had spent stargazing. It felt strange to walk back amongst the ancient stones, like walking into a distant and yet fond memory. A little melancholic, but it was a good kind of pain, the kind that reminded them how far they had travelled to be where they were now.  
The stairs where they had seated long ago where still there. Maybe it wasn't the same trees above their heads, but they didn't mind. They were still cypresses, after all. They were more crooked than the ones in their memories, maybe they too had been bent by time. It was strange for this season, and yet, there were still fireflies flying through the stony lane and buildings.  
Aziraphale rested his head upon Crowley's shoulder, tightening his hold on his hand. The demon gave his hand a tender squeeze in response. Aziraphale covered their entwined fingers with his other hand, as to protect Crowley's, to make sure to surround his whole hand with his own.  
The demon glanced down at their entwined fingers, smiling at the sight of the golden ring shining around the angel's finger…  
… his angel, he reminded himself. He was officially his angel now. Had been for a little over 16 hours. The wedding bands around their fingers were there to prove it.  
The thought brought tears to his eyes, and the feeling of Aziraphale's thumb softly stroking his knuckles did not help.  
Sometimes, it was overwhelming, the way Aziraphale loved him. After all these years - countless years, really - spent dreaming about how it would be to be loved by him, Crowley still hadn't come close to how it truly felt. How whole he felt. How he wasn't feeling alone at all anymore. And the tenderness of it all… loving Aziraphale was being surrounded by it day and night, like a halo enveloping him in the fondest feelings. It was like falling but only to be caught by the softest embrace. It was safe, and certain, and unfaltering. And sometimes, the love oozing from Aziraphale was almost too much for Crowley to handle. But it was never quite too much either, and Crowley found himself constantly begging for more even when he believed he couldn't physically take more of it. And yet, he could, and he longed for more still, and Aziraphale seemed to be always eager to give more of it whenever Crowley asked so.  
Crowley couldn’t get used to loving Aziraphale and being loved back, and being free to love each other the way they did now, so completely. But then, he wasn't sure he wanted to get used to it. He was happy with the feeling of his heart exploding once in a while because of all the love it received and all the love it created and couldn't hold in.  
Aziraphale smiled, pointing at a star that Crowley recognized in the blink of an eye.  
"My favourite star is still here," the angel said.  
"Well, it's not like it's going to go anywhere, angel."  
Aziraphale rolled his eyes.  
"I know, honey."  
"You really have to settle on one."  
"On one what?"  
"Pet name. You have to settle on one, and stick to it. Like angel for you."  
"But I like changing. You don't like it?"  
"It would make sense to settle for one."  
"But you are my darling, although sometimes dearest fits better, and then, like right now, you feel more like honey, and sometimes I have to call you my love…"  
"You drive me crazy, angel," Crowley sighed.  
"Oh, I know," Aziraphale smirked, and his husband simply couldn't refrain a laugh.  
"You, bastard…"  
"Now, I really do prefer angel though, my love."  
They both laughed, holding on each other a little more tightly as a cold breeze blew away dust that had settled on centuries and centuries worth of memories.  
Aziraphale shivered with the cold breeze, but found himself instantly surrounded by warmth. And he knew it was Crowley miracling heat through his coat.  
Sometimes, it was overwhelming, the way Crowley loved him. After all these years - countless years, really - spent dreaming about how it would be to be loved by him, Aziraphale still hadn't come close to how it truly felt. How whole he felt. How he wasn't feeling alone at all anymore. And the tenderness of it all… loving Crowley was being surrounded by it day and night, like a halo enveloping him in the fondest feelings. It was a thousand attentions targeted towards him in the sole purpose to make him happy. It was abandoning his heart and placing it in the safest of hands. It was safe, and certain, and unfaltering. And sometimes, the love oozing from Crowley was almost too much for Aziraphale to handle. But it was never quite too much either, and Aziraphale knew that there couldn't be any too much, no matter if it was about giving or receiving. It was overwhelming, but not suffocating. It was simply more than he had ever dreamt he could receive, and he wasn't prepared, and he didn't think he would ever be prepared for the next tender gesture Crowley would target him with. It was okay though, he didn't really want to get used to it.  
Aziraphale couldn’t get used to loving Crowley and being loved back, and being free to love each other the way they did now, so completely. But he was happy with the feeling of his heart exploding once in a while because of all the love it received and all the love it created and couldn't hold in.  
A funny thought passed through Crowley's mind, and when he shared it with his angel, it made him laugh too. If only Gabriel and Beelzebub could see them now… the thought of the two of them having sex together would have made them faint, but the two of them being married, now, that would be enough to discorporate them both.  
There was a distant but clear rumbling noise that broke the sky. Rain was coming, and indeed, clouds were slowly drifting towards them, hiding one by one the stars above them.  
They remained there all the same, in a comfortable and intimate silence, for a long while, undisturbed and unwilling to walk away as the night grew darker, and the streets became empty, and the clouds gathered above them.  
Eventually, a raindrop fell on the tip of Crowley's nose, startling him. But there wasn't a second one. A white, long, elegant wing had stretched out to protect them both, and Crowley was ready to cry.  
He rested his head on Aziraphale's.  
"Angel?"  
"Yes, dearest?"  
"Will you still be here when there won't be mornings anymore?"  
Aziraphale smiled, dropping a kiss into Crowley's neck before answering.  
"Yes, I will."


End file.
